Rurouni Soujiro
by The Gramarye
Summary: Soujiro is on his own now, and is searching for new meaning in life. Long and involved, with a bit of everything: swordfighting, love interest, political intrigue, and underworld schemes. 111502: psst psst ... a sequel is finally in the works.
1. Prelude & Chapter 1

DISCLAIMER: We both know I don't own Soujiro, ShiShiO, Kenshin, or any of the other characters that are making Watsuki Nobuhiro rich. If I did, I wouldn't be writing this while I'm supposed to be studying for a German final. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. If not ... chikushou, aku baka!  
That reminds me ... my Japanese is next to nonexistent. Don't fault me for it. At least I'm trying.  
Happy reading!  
  
SPOILERS/BACKGROUND: To Kenshin TV ep 61, "Remaining Ju Pon Gattana, Choice of Life."  
  
*****  
  
  
PRELUDE:  
A NEW BEGINNING  
  
*Everything seems so new* Soujiro thought to himself as he lay looking at the stars. It had been almost two weeks since he left ShiShiO-san's headquarters, and other than a lingering bruise from Himura Kenshin's succession technique, he carried almost nothing with him from that world. It was an entirely different world now, he realized.  
  
News of ShiShiO's death had reached him, though it didn't grieve him as much as he thought it would have. He had never been very emotional, but ShiShiO had been very close to him. The man had saved his life, and had taught him how to defend himself. He had taught him how to be strong. Unfortunately, ShiShiO had also taught him how to be a killer, something he had never really wanted ... but Soujiro had been convinced that being strong and being a killer were the same. Soujiro would not blame ShiShiO for his own blindness.  
  
The Ama-kakeru, Ryu-no-Hirameki had opened Soujiro's eyes. Had Himura been using a true katana, it would have only been Soujiro's top half flying through the air. The Battousai had shown that strength and killing need not go hand in hand. That realization had ended the world that Soujiro had lived in before. Now it was up to him to rebuild it, and build it right this time.  
  
Leaving the Kyoto area had obviously been the only choice. People probably wouldn't like him there. Despite what Yumi always said, Soujiro was not a complete idiot. He wasn't particularly afraid of Saitoh springing at him from the shadows--he wasn't particularly afraid of anything--but nonetheless, taking some time to himself seemed to be the right thing to do. It had been what Himura had done when he vanished from Kyoto more than a decade before then. Himura had found his answers somewhere.  
  
Of course, Himura had needed less answers than Soujiro. Himura had been a normal person aside from the whole killing people on a nightly basis thing. Soujiro was ... different. He had never really minded being different, but the fact was that he was simply not like other people on the inside. Himura had discovered that he did have emotions, but they were still buried deep within him. He had to learn to let them out occasionally. Otherwise, when they did come out, they would probably be as graphic as the last time, he thought with a wince, instinctively rubbing his forehead. He remembered smashing it into the floor, screaming loud enough to shake the walls as the Hitokiri looked on in shock. The memory was clear, but faint, as though it was someone else's memory. Still, he would rather not make another such memory.  
  
There were also more material matters than memories to deal with. Food was beginning to become a problem. Well, hunting was not difficult, though Soujiro had seldom considered that he would ever have to use the Shuku-chi against animals. It gave him the chance to keep in practice, anyway; animals had better defenses than most men, when he stopped to think about it. In fact, he had been forced to develop a few new techniques to take birds out of the air with a katana; he had a lot of time on his hands, and had no intention of getting rusty. The best way he knew to do that was to work at getting better. Plus, he found that roast crane made a fantastic entree.  
  
But as far as the rest of his diet, well, he found that Yumi-san had been right. Baka this, baka that. He had no idea which plants and roots were edible, and he couldn't live forever on just meat. Just about the only plant that he knew was edible was rice--and that really didn't grow wild. He remembered that he wasn't supposed to eat azaleas for some reason ... but he couldn't remember what an azalea looked like. He really didn't have the money to head into towns for food all the time, and he didn't want to be around other people at the moment, anyway. He wanted to be alone. He did wonder what had happened to ShiShiO's fortune, however. He doubted ShiShiO had ever made a will. The man had thought he was immortal. Soujiro had believed it.  
  
*Oh, well. Life goes on,* Soujiro smiled to himself as he drifted off to sleep. *At least for me.*  
  
*****  
  
Soujiro awoke with a start. Someone was nearby. Soujiro let his hand drift quietly closer to the hilt of his katana. Whoever was nearby was strong; Soujiro could feel his battle aura. Although the aura wasn't necessarily strong, it wasn't weak, either ... it was just ... erratic. Soujiro realized that whoever it belonged to was wounded.  
  
Rising to his feet, Soujiro trotted off in the direction of the sensation. The moon was just past full, and there was more than enough light to see by; the mountain forest had a surreal beauty about it that Soujiro had learned to appreciate--and work within. Soujiro's feet glided noiselessly over the dreamlit landscape.  
  
He found him in less than a minute. A man lay on his hands and knees on the banks of a small stream less than half a mile from where Soujiro had been sleeping. Blood dripped from several different wounds on his body, and a naked sword lay next to him. Even in the moonlight, Soujiro could see that the blade was stained red.  
  
"What happened to you?" Soujiro asked as he leaned down to help the man into a sitting position. It did not take him a very thorough look to realize that the man did not have long to live.  
  
"H ... help ..." the man gasped.  
  
"I don't think I can help you," Soujiro said, as he took the man's arms around his shoulders. It was true, and they both knew it.  
  
"Not me ... my vill ... aagh!" The last came as Soujiro set the man down, as gently as he could, against the base of the nearest tree. "Ichibou! My village!" he rasped.  
  
"Ichibou?" Soujiro asked. He was more interested than his voice implied; he had never been good at making his feelings known. "What's happening in Ichibou?"  
  
"Yak ... yakuz ..." The man's aura winked out.  
  
Soujiro stood up and let the man lay undisturbed for a time. He was definitely intrigued, and for several reasons. First, the man had had the aura of a powerful fighter, so if there were gangsters that could do this to him, they were no ordinary ones. Second, Ichibou had been one of the ten small villages like Shingetsu that ShiShiO's troops had conquered during the high tide of ShiShiO's power. It was the furthest afield from Kyoto that his forces had spread. Soujiro had never been there himself; it was well off the main route, and apparently ShiShiO's army had never had any problems there that required his assistance. Third, he had intended to stop there anyway, since it was the next major town on the mountain road. It was larger than Shingetsu, actually, and a small fortune ran into the town from an iron mine that lay at the west edge of the town. That was the reason ShiShiO had chosen Ichibou as the first place that far from Kyoto to strike.  
  
Eventually, Soujiro thought he had stood there long enough. He knelt down, said a silent prayer for the departed, and began to look through the man's belongings. It never occurred to him that he was acting like a criminal, and being so close to a dead person certainly didn't bother him. Besides, the man might have something much more useful on him than money. He might have information.  
  
The man certainly didn't have much money. Soujiro sighed wistfully. It seemed to be a common thread among samurai these days. Then Soujiro spied something on the hilt of the man's sword. On impulse, he picked it up and took a closer look. He gasped.  
  
Just below the crossbar of the hilt lay a sigil that he recognized. He had ruined a sword with an identical marking against the Battousai's sakaba at their first meeting. It was one of the Oh-waza-mono, a set of thirty-one of the finest katanas ever made in Japan. "Any warrior would die to possess it," Yumi-san had told him once. Soujiro took another hard look at the fallen. If he had been good enough to have earned such a blade--and he did not have the look or the aura of a thief--then he must have been VERY good. A Hitokiri of some kind, by all accounts.  
  
With a touch of what might have been envy in another man, Soujiro remembered the sword that he had been using ever since he left ShiShiO's stronghold. It was a common soldier's blade that he had picked up off of one of ShiShiO's fallen troops. The Battousai had destroyed three swords in Soujiro's hands, though one had not been without hope of repair. He had sent it back to ShiShiO, however, and sworn never to walk down that road again. He had been looking for a better weapon than the economy-grade lump of scrap metal that he had been killing birds with--but he had never dreamed that one of the Oh-waza-mono would fall into his hands.  
  
He picked up the sword, and unbuckled the man's belt with the sheath on it. There was writing on the scabbard, Garou no Kokoro, Heart of the Hungry Wolf. He slid the sheath onto his own belt, and slid the katana into it, making sure to clean it as best he could in the creek first.  
  
"Ichibou, eh?" he mused thoughtfully once he was finished. "I   
guess I should still go there," he thought aloud. "I owe him that much for the sword." In addition, he was mildly interested in what had happened to ShiShiO's empire now that ShiShiO was gone.  
  
Since he still wanted to get some sleep before morning and he had brought his knapsack with him, Soujiro curled up and slept a few feet away, just out of sight of the dead samurai. Nothing bothered him about sleeping so near a corpse, but his sleep was troubled anyway. Something had killed a wielder of one of the Oh-waza-mono. He had known one of them, and had wielded one of them himself on occasion. They were not the kind of men that died easily, even in the face of overwhelming numbers.  
  
"Living the life of a Hitokiri has a price," ShiShiO's voice returned to him.  
  
"A price?" Soujiro had asked.  
  
"Living the life of a Hitokiri means dying the death of a Hitokiri," ShiShiO had continued. "There are only two things that can kill us. The first is a stronger Hitokiri. The second is the lord of Hell himself."  
  
Soujiro awoke at first light. He had been sleeping until well into most mornings of late, but his sleep had been too restless for a long, carefree snooze. He stole a peek around the bole of the tree he had been sleeping against, taking another look at the man who had uttered his last words to Soujiro.  
  
The man had laid it upon him to go to Ichibou, and that had been where Soujiro had been heading anyway, so he really had no reason not to continue. It was either go through Ichibou or turn around and go back the way he had come; Ichibou occupied the southern entrance to the only pass through the mountains within several days' walk in either direction. The pass itself was bad enough, Soujiro had heard; trying to climb the mountains themselves just to avoid the town would be senseless. Besides, Soujiro wanted a good meal, a warm bath, and a soft bed. It wasn't that he couldn't rough it ... well, OK, it was. He was learning, but learning could wait. Besides, he really did want to see whoever or whatever it was in Ichibou that could take out a Hitokiri. It never occurred to him that it might be dangerous; living with ShiShiO-san as a mentor had erased all knowledge of danger from his mind.  
  
*There are only two things that can kill us. The first is a stronger Hitokiri. The second is the lord of Hell himself.* Somehow, he doubted that the Lord of Hell was taking a vacation in Ichibou. The Lord of Hell would probably choose someplace warmer.  
  
Girding himself with his new sword, as well as his old one, he turned back to the mountain road and continued on his journey northward. To Ichibou.  
  
  
*****  
  
  
CHAPTER 1:  
MEMORIES, MEALS, AND MONEY  
  
The sun had just crested the horizon to the east, and there was a thin cloud cover darkening the morning as Soujiro crested the last rise before coming into view of Ichibou. A puzzled look momentarily overshadowed his smile, and a single thought leapt into his head.  
  
"ShiShiO sent his army this far afield," he wondered aloud, "for this?"  
  
Ichibou was not the prettiest town in Japan. Soujiro guessed it probably wasn't the ugliest, but it was the ugliest he had ever seen. It looked like it hadn't been cleaned in years. Yumi-san would have thrown a fit. A single decrepit merchant wagon lumbered languidly along the mountain road towards the town, and another lone, dusty wagon was trudging away from it down another trail that led to the east. The town's modest fortifications seemed as though they had been repaired rather hastily, and crudely. In fact, it had probably been done by ShiShiO's troops, since what was left without those repairs didn't look like it could stand up to a hard wind, much less an invasion. It wasn't even as big as Soujiro had assumed it must have been, for a mining town that was supposed to be fairly rich. If they had so much money, why didn't they dip into it to buy soap every now and then? Even with it barely within sight, Soujiro wrinkled his nose. His stay there might not be as pleasant as he had hoped.  
  
Shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly, he wandered back into motion. He had never truly been in a hurry, but now he really wasn't. There was certainly no rush. He had plenty of time to make it to the town before nightfall, and he had no real desire to get there any sooner than he had to in order to ensure himself that he would spend the night in a real bed. Thinking of what the beds would probably be like, he shuddered again. Maybe roughing it wasn't so bad after all.  
  
Ichibou lay on the flattened crest of a grassy hilltop across a small valley several miles long. The hill Soujiro stood on lay perhaps half as high above the valley floor as Ichibou, so he was going to be in for quite a climb whenever he decided to make the last mile into town. There was a smaller hamlet down in the valley, however, easily within an hour's walk, that looked much more tidy. It was set on the banks of the mountain stream that flowed through the valley after passing through Ichibou. There looked to be perhaps ten or eleven houses that he could see, and while they were in no way as good as the estates he had occupied in Kyoto, or even Shingetsu, they looked like someone somewhere within them cared a little about the quality of their residence.  
  
It took him well under an hour to reach the little cluster of houses. Most of the trek was downhill into the valley, and he actually caught a goby in a small creek along the way. He was getting better at that; for some reason, fish were harder to kill with a katana than people. Especially because Soujiro really didn't want to get his clothes wet. He wondered what Yumi-san would say to that. He even wondered what ShiShiO would say to that. At least he was still using his old sword; he wouldn't dream of putting one of the Oh-waza-mono to such menial labor. He was tempted to make sushi out of the goby, but he decided to wrap it and see if he could charm anyone in one of the houses up ahead to cook it for him.  
  
When he reached the little group of houses, he was surprised at how serene everything was. A battallion of ShiShiO's soldiers had no doubt marched through this village not so long ago; most of them did not share his views on stealth. Many of those soldiers had probably turned to thievery and robbery once news of ShiShiO's downfall reached them. It was the kind of thing soldiers did. A conversation he had had with Yumi came back to him.  
  
"Don't call yourself an assassin," Yumi told him. "You're better than that."  
  
"Oh?" Soujiro replied. He had wondered what word there was for someone better than an assassin. He was better than most assassins, after all. He just didn't know any other word for what he did. Then again, Yumi was much smarter than him.  
  
"You're not an assassin, boy. You're one of the Ju Pon Gattana, ShiShiO's highest army. You're a soldier."  
  
Soujiro donned a puzzled expression. "How is a soldier better than an assassin?"  
  
"Being a soldier is a mark of pride and honor, and soldiers carry their pride with them wherever they go. Assassins are just killers."  
  
Soujiro gave her his most puzzled expression. "I still don't understand."  
  
"Why not?" Yumi barked.  
  
"I just kill. But soldiers kill people and then steal from them, or steal from them and then kill them. Sometimes they even kill people they weren't sent to kill. What makes them better than me?"  
  
Yumi thought for a moment, then replied, "Soldiers have no need of stealth. They can show themselves in daylight."  
  
"I don't hide in daylight, either," he pointed out.  
  
"But you don't tell others that you're an assassin, either."  
  
"No, I don't think people would react very well if I did."  
  
"Exactly!" Yumi said smugly.  
  
"But most people don't seem to like having soldiers nearby, either," Soujiro had pointed out. "I was just at a restaurant when soldiers walked in, and everyone else got really uncomfortable or left. Some of the soldiers didn't even pay for their tofu."  
  
"Then those soldiers have no honor, either."  
  
"Then they aren't like other soldiers?"  
  
"They aren't like other soldiers should be!"  
  
"Good. That means I don't have to be like other assassins," he had finished sweetly.   
  
Soujiro found himself smiling as he came out of his reverie. Thinking of Yumi always made him smile. Still, it reminded him that most of ShiShiO-san's soldiers were probably not that much different from other soldiers--given some time without their paychecks, they might not be as honorable as Yumi had thought soldiers should be.  
  
And yet, as he had noticed before, everything was peaceful. A few children, many not even as old as he had been when he left his home with ShiShiO-san, smiled at him as he walked into the hamlet. He smiled at them, hoping that all of them were living happier childhood days than he had. Instinctively, he looked around apprehensively to see if any of those buildings could possibly be a rice warehouse. That might bring back too many unpleasant memories to let him stay here. Fortunately, none stood out at him in that way.  
  
"Konnichiwa!" a young woman called at him from under the awning of the largest of the buildings in the little hamlet. The lower half was apparently the entire commercial district. The left half was occupied by a small restaurant and tavern; the right half was a small general store that looked like the owner was ready to fix broken wagons at a moment's notice.   
  
"Just passing through?" she called again.  
  
"Anou ... I guess so," Soujiro said uneasily. He remembered that he wasn't in a hurry to get to Ichibou, but he really didn't have the money to be eating at every diner he passed. Just getting groceries was expensive enough. He had never had to worry about money while he was with ShiShiO, and while he had brought what was left of ShiShiO's secret cache with him, it would not get any larger.  
  
Sure enough, the woman was a professional saleswoman. "Aren't you hungry? You look hungry. Come on! I know you can't be enjoying eating trail food every day!" She was right enough about that.  
  
After another few moments of indecision, Soujiro gave in. The restaurant looked fairly busy, actually, which probably meant that the food was good. It also probably meant that there was useful information lurking in the minds of some of the customers. It was the only restaurant in the hamlet, and it was the last one for several days' ride to the south, especially to those burdened by wagons. Soujiro spotted a few wagons parked in a vacant lot next to the restaurant; that clinched it. If anyone in there even accidentally dropped a clue as to what was happening in Ichibou at the time, it might be worth the stop ... and the cost.  
  
So it was that Soujiro, once the paragon of assassins and highest subordinate of the man who struck terror into the hearts of the entire Meiji government, wound up sitting idly in a small restaurant in an isolated valley far away from anywhere he had ever been before, enjoying a light but delicious meal of baked rice and chicken teriyaki. He even allowed himself a single glass of sake, something he had never done while living with ShiShiO. Actually, that had been because of Yumi, though he had been told that Yumi herself had drunk on occasion.  
  
However, like all men of his former profession, his awareness was not solely on his food. The conversation in the restaurant was not exceptionally stimulating--but it was plentiful.  
  
"Do you think we planted early enough?" "We won't be able to tell until the rains come." "They had better come soon ..."  
  
"No, the bloody leak won't be fixed for another month." "That's a shame." "So what are you doing in the meantime ..."  
  
"I wish I could, but my mother-in-law and her whole family are coming down from Osaka next month, and I have to cook for all of them ..." "So how long are they staying?" "Too long."  
  
"Do you really think I've got a chance?" "Aw, go for it! What've you got to lose?" "But what if she says ..." Soujiro averted his ears from the rest of that conversation quickly.  
  
"No, nothing's changed up north." Soujiro's mind perked up. "It still costs a bloody fortune to get through. Genji's boys take everything they bloody feel like off your hands on your way through, too."  
  
Soujiro risked a look in the direction of those voices. The speaker was one of a trio of men sitting in a booth catty corner across the aisle from his. Two had the definite look of merchants; Soujiro guessed that the third was the bodyguard of one of the merchants, probably the one that had been speaking.  
  
"You still need to get through that badly?" It was the same voice that Soujiro had heard speaking before; it came from the merchant whose back was to Soujiro.  
  
"Unfortunately," the other merchant confirmed glumly. "I'm staking an awful lot on this run. This stuff is selling for six or seven times what I paid for it in some of the more isolated areas a few days north of the divide. If I lose out on this, my livelihood for the year is pretty much suspect."  
  
"Good luck to you, then," the first merchant replied, obviously feeling some sympathy for the other man, though Soujiro doubted it was as deep as the man let on. "I strongly suggest you try to find yourself some more tough types to help you, though, just until you get north of town."  
  
"I already have a guard," the merchant whose face Soujiro could see answered. "A veteran of Shingetsu, he says, wherever that was. I don't keep up on the battles, unless they're in my area." Soujiro's eyes widened. Someone else from Shingetsu was here? He was paying attention almost openly now; his interest was more than piqued. "I just picked him up before I left Kyoto," the northbound merchant continued, "but he has a scar or two on him to prove it, so I'm going to take him at his word. Those are pretty hard to fake."  
  
"Maybe." The first merchant sounded doubtful. "But I'd hire another one or two if I could. You may need more than one, especially if you haven't seen him fight yet."  
  
"Not that I don't want to," the other one answered wistfully, "but the locals here don't generally seem the fighting type. Most of the people here looked nervous just because Sasaki was carrying a sword. Even if he is isn't as good as he says, and I'm sure he's not, I'm not going to find anyone better between here and there."  
  
"Take my advice," the first merchant countered pointedly as he rose from the table and prepared to leave. "Try."  
  
"OK."  
  
The first merchant and his guard walked out. It might have been just a trick of the light in the doorway, but Soujiro thought he caught the faintest hint of a smirk on the man's face as he stepped out into the daylight. After another moment's thought, Soujiro shrugged and turned his attention back the the northbound merchant. He was going to have to stop being so paranoid--only he somehow doubted the world had changed that much just because everything was different. He knew that thought didn't make much sense. Thinking too much just hurt his brain, though, so he didn't bother correcting it. His attention was now on the merchant still in the restaurant, who was staring dejectedly at the table, his displeasure at the choice of evils before him clearly evident on his face.  
  
"Chikushou!" the merchant snarled after a minute, rising to his feet and calling for the tab. He kicked at the ground sullenly.  
  
The waitress came to collect the bill, and it just happened that she came from behind him. The merchant had to turn around to pay her. When he did so, his eyes widened immediately, and Soujiro knew that his swords had been spotted. Soujiro made sure he was paying religious attention to what was left of his chicken teriyaki, but he smiled inwardly. Soujiro was far too professional to allow his weapons to be seen when he didn't want them to be.  
  
"Sumimasen!" Soujiro called. "Check please!" He didn't want to give the merchant much time to think. He paid his bill with a polite smile and a well-deserved compliment to the chef, picked up his swords and travel bags, and headed for the door.  
  
Sure enough, the merchant just happened to fall in alongside Soujiro on the way out. "Hello, lad," he began cautiously.  
  
"Hi!" Soujiro responded lightly.  
  
"What direction are you headed?" the merchant asked.  
  
"Oh ... I think I'm going to keep going north for a while." Soujiro's voice was always casual, but this time he made a conscious effort of it.  
  
"Really?" the merchant sounded genuinely interested. Merchants were usually good at sounding genuinely interested when they weren't. "Funny I should run into you then. Karachi Hoebu, at your service."  
  
"Funny?" Soujiro was puzzled. "It's the only road around that goes north."  
  
The merchant apparently could not decide if Soujiro was making a joke, was encouraging him to come straight the the point, or was just completely ignorant. He decided to come to the point, though perhaps not completely straight. "Looking for work?"  
  
"Maybe." It was an honest answer; he hadn't been at all until minutes earlier, and the idea had just popped into his head.  
  
"For just a few days perhaps?"  
  
"Hmm ..." Soujiro didn't really know what he was supposed to do here; he had never had to negotiate a job for himself before.  
  
"Maybe just two days?"  
  
"What did you have in mind?"  
  
"I need someone to protect my wagon in that town up there." He motioned towards the town on the far side of the valley. "I've heard that it's gotten rough these days."  
  
Soujiro did his best to look mildly interested. "Well, I don't have any real work right now," he began.  
  
"Perfect!" the merchant crooned.  
  
"But," Soujiro continued, and the merchant stopped short. "A merchant's wagon with lots of expensive goods will probably attract a lot more trouble in Ichibou than just me by myself."  
  
The merchant quoted a price for two days. Soujiro had never been much of a mathematician, but the number was less than the lowest soldiers in ShiShiO's army had made. Soujiro gave him a sidelong look. His mind was racing, and his mind hurt when it raced. Soujiro had always been told that he looked innocent and unassuming, and he had always accepted that and just gone on with his life. It never really made much of a difference. Yet, he had a feeling that this merchant thought that he was dealing with a complete amateur simply because Soujiro did not have the look of a fighter.  
  
Soujiro thought for a moment, then flatly quoted a figure that was time and a half what one of ShiShiO's sergeants would have made, and added a stipulation that he was to receive the same type of food and lodging for the first night in Ichibou that the merchant bought for himself. It was the merchant's turn to fix a shrewd glance on the man he was dealing with. Soujiro had not asked for all that much extra--the man might have paid almost twice his orginal figure--but the fact that Soujiro asked for more at all apparently came as a surprise. Maybe the little innocent wasn't as inexperienced as he looked. After a long moment the merchant smiled, and nodded his acceptance.  
  
"We'll be leaving in just a few minutes," the merchant said. "Oh, by the way, what was your name again?"  
  
"Anou ... oh ... Soujiro. Seta Soujiro." He wondered if he shouldn't have let that slip. He had never thought that he might need a new name for himself. His old one was starting to get a little stained. Of course, he had no idea what kind of a new one he wanted. He had figured dropping the Tenken title was enough, like Himura had dropped the Battousai. Memories of the Tenken were fresher in some people's minds, though, and the merchant's other guard had apparently been at Shingetsu.  
  
"I'll be right back as soon as I pick up something at the store," Karachi said. "If you want, you can just wait by my wagon; it the last one in the back behind the restaurant. It's the biggest one there."  
  
"Thank you. I'll do that" Soujiro said, and quickly turned and hurried off towards the small group of wagons. He wanted to meet whoever this "veteran of Shingetsu" was before Karachi returned.  
  
The wagon was not hard to find; it was indeed the largest there, almost half again the size of the second largest. It was heavily laden, but everything in it was covered with thick canvas. Soujiro couldn't see anything of what he was guarding. He couldn't even see the shape, since everything was apparently packaged in oversized boxes or crates. Everything looked like it had been fairly securely packaged, however; even the rear gate had been securely bolted shut. Whatever was in there was apparently fragile. It certainly wouldn't be coming out into the road.  
  
There was a man sitting on the wagon tongue, keeping his eye more on the horses than on the wagon. Soujiro didn't recognize him, which was probably a good thing; he might have had trouble explaining himself had the merchant's guard turned out to be Senkaku or someone more familiar. Just to prove a point, Soujiro flitted lithely over to the wagon from the rear and climbed on top of it without disturbing it enough to realize him. The boxes under the canvas were sturdy; the footing was as firm as solid ground.  
  
"Konnichiwa!" he called to the man sitting below him.  
  
The man spun around, his hand dipping clumsily to his sword and his elbow accidentally knocking over a small flask of sake that had been hidden from Soujiro's eyes before. "Who the hell are you?!" he demanded. "Get off! This is private property!"  
  
"Yup! Karachi Hoebu's, I know. He just hired me, too."  
  
"Nani?" the man looked shocked. From what Soujiro had just seen, however, Karachi was right to want extra protection. Soujiro wondered what this man had been hired to protect against.  
  
"For just two days," Soujiro said calmingly. "Just until you're out of Ichibou. I won't be any trouble."  
  
The man relaxed a little. "Hmph. OK." With that, he turned back to his sake.  
  
"Ah, I see you've met!" Karachi's voice rang out. "Just in case you hadn't gotten to the names yet, Soujiro, this is Sasaki Shingo ... Shingo, this is Soujiro."  
  
The other guard turned a look on his new companion. "So your name's Soujiro?"  
  
"Hai," Soujiro responded politely.  
  
"I knew a Soujiro once," the guard went on.  
  
"Did you really?" Soujiro asked, wondering if the man actually knew him or not.  
  
"Yup. We were at Shingetsu together. I doubt you're as good a fighter as he was, however. He was the right hand of ShiShiO-sama!"  
  
"Was he really?" Soujiro's smile was starting to become genuine.  
  
"Yup. He was six feet tall, and had the strength of a horse behind every blow. It was all I could do to defend myself whenever I sparred with him."  
  
"Seriously?" Soujiro had put on the most innocent expression he had ever worn. "What did he look like? Really scary?"  
  
The man hesitated for a moment. "Well, he's kinda hard to describe, but he was totally ripped. Most muscular man I've ever met. My old boss, Senkaku, was a real brute--huge fellow, and fought with huge blades on each hand--even he talked about this Soujiro like the man might have him for breakfast at any time."  
  
"Wow," Soujiro continued. "You must have been pretty high in ShiShiO-san's army if you could even hold off against him in a sparring match."  
  
The man flashed him a look, and Soujiro realized he had slipped. He had said "ShiShiO-san." Most people didn't do that unless they were in an unbelievable hurry to get to the next world. Fortunately, the guard shrugged it off.  
  
"I was Senkaku's chief lieutenant," he boasted.  
  
Even with Soujiro's vaunted tight rein on his emotions, it was all he could do not to giggle. Senkaku's chief lieutenant had been at least fifteen years older than this man, and had longer hair that was beginning to go gray in patches. He had also been several inches taller, had a much deeper voice, and had been walking with quite a limp ever since the Battousai had gotten his sakaba on him. Apparently Himura-san hadn't been happy at the sight of villagers dangling from the gallows or something. Soujiro hadn't watched the actual fight.  
  
Although Soujiro's eyes were sparkling with laughter, he managed to keep it out of his voice. "Impressive. Hoebu-san should be safe with us."  
  
"Excellent!" the merchant cried, and hauled himself up onto the wagon seat beside Shingo. "Let's get going!"  
  
Soujiro nodded, and calmly slipped back to the rear of the wagon. He had only shown emotion twice that he could remember; once was fear, once was anger. He was worried that if he remained at the front of the wagon with the others much longer, he might add uproarious laughter to that list.  
  
"Six feet tall and ripped," he mused to himself as he sat with his feet dangling over the back of the rearmost canvas-covered crate. "I'm going to enjoy this trip."  
  
  
***** 


	2. Chapters 2 & 3

DISCLAIMER: We both know I don't own Soujiro, ShiShiO, Kenshin, or any of the other characters that are making Watsuki Nobuhiro rich. If I did, I would not have to worry about where all the money to pay for my Christmas shopping will come from. I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. If not ... chikushou, aku baka!  
That reminds me ... my Japanese is next to nonexistent. Don't fault me for it. At least I'm trying.  
Happy reading!  
  
SPOILERS/BACKGROUND: To Kenshin TV ep 61, "Remaining Ju Pon Gattana, Choice of Life."  
  
*****  
  
  
CHAPTER 2:  
THE ROAD TO ICHIBOU  
  
Soujiro actually enjoyed his first several hours as a merchant's guard. He sat smiling on the back of the wagon as the horses plodded northward, watching as the ground slowly and constantly receded into the distance. Sitting on the back of the wagon meant he didn't need to look at Ichibou drawing ever closer; the scenery in the valley behind them was much more appealing to the eye.  
  
Karachi and Sasaki didn't talk much, but that was perfectly fine with Soujiro. He didn't feel like talking. For one of the few times in his life, he felt like thinking. He had a lot to think about.  
  
Eventually, however, his concentration was interrupted. The sun was well past its zenith, and a light breeze was beginning to swirl around them from higher up in the mountains, but the noise was no barrier to Soujiro's awareness. His hand was on the hilt of his sword several moments before the wagon lurched to a stop. A look of concentration entered his eyes. He didn't feel the sensation he usually felt when there was trouble--but then again, that sense of his was almost always dormant, because there really hadn't been more than a handful of people on this planet that could give him trouble. Lightly, he leapt down off the back of the wagon as it came to a full stop, and quickly jumped into a nearby ditch. The landscape here was rocky and tangled with undergrowth, meaning that there was more than plenty of places to hide. Most fighters did not share his views on stealth, but he never generally asked for their opinions.  
  
Soujiro crouched low so that he was below the level of the roadway, and let his awareness spread out until he zeroed in on what was happening in front of the wagon. Risking a momentary glance over the lip of the ditch, he saw his employer and his guard surrounded by what appeared to be half a dozen men, two actually in the road and four more on elevated positions to either side. All of them carried familiar spears, such as ShiShiO-san's base infantry had carried. Soujiro guessed that there was a glut of such weapons in the area now; then again, these people might even have been ex-soldiers under ShiShiO.  
  
"That's right, no cargo gets through to Ichibou without our approval," the leader was saying. "We're the perimeter security squad."  
  
"Perimeter security squad?" Karachi rebutted, though he was careful not to put too much heat into his voice. "Under whose authority?"  
  
"Master Senkaku-sama, Lord of Ichibou!" the other replied grandly. Soujiro's eyes widened. There was a name that he had not expected to hear in a while. Hearing someone refer to him as "Senkaku-sama," however, was a little amusing.  
  
"Senkaku?" Karachi replied. "I've never even heard of that name before. And even if he does exist, I somewhat doubt that you're working for him."  
  
"You don't believe in us, fine," the leader of the band stated flatly. "But believe in these." He made a menacing motion with his spear.  
  
Soujiro had been flitting from cover to cover as all this was going on, from the moment Senkaku's name was mentioned, and by this time he was within striking distance of the two men on the east side of the path without having to use his Shuku-chi. He decided that it was not that much of a risk, and whoever these people were probably deserved it coming more than many of the people he had killed. He remembered that he wasn't supposed to kill anymore, but Battousai managed to hurt people all the time and still keep peace with himself.  
  
He was almost six feet below the level of where the two highwaymen stood, but it was not a problem for him. His katanas made absolutely no noise as they slid free of their sheaths. With one fluid motion, he sprang free of the boulder he had been hiding behind, crossed the intervening few yards between there and the roadside boulder that the highwaymen stood upon, and leapt. As he leapt, he crossed and coiled his arms in front of his chest, katanas pointed at the sky. When he reached the level of the brigands' legs, he uncoiled all at once in a blinding blue blur. He took out both of them at once just below the back of their kneecaps, two with his new sword, two with his old. They both fell backwards with sudden cries of pain and crashed off the boulder.  
  
Soujiro made sure that he crashed into the back boulder, and actually had to climb up to the summit. His legs were certainly powerful enough to propel him all the way to the top, but that was more than he was ready to give away yet. Even as he scrambled onto the smooth surface at the top, he sheathed his new sword as well. Once again, there was no sense in giving away too much too soon.  
  
The men in the street were still recovering from their surprise as Soujiro stood up on the boulder and look down at them, and across at the other two men on the far side of the road.  
  
"Conichiwa!" he called to them, a twinkle in his eyes. He quickly jumped down and put himself in between Karachi and these 'perimeter security' people, just in case one of them would recover enough to feel that the perimeter was more secure with a spear or a knife to Karachi's throat.  
  
"Sumimasen, but I don't think it matters if you're here under Senkaku's authority or not," Soujiro said when he was in position. "I don't think he even has that much authority."  
  
"Who the hell are you?" the leader demanded incredulously.  
  
"Just a Rurouni," Soujiro said with a smile. He was amazed at how easily that word came to his lips, considering he had never called himself that before. "How about you?"  
  
"What the hell does it matter to you, boy?!" the man demanded right back. "Kill this punk!"  
  
Soujiro gave a wistful sigh as he tapped his right foot lightly on the ground. "Yare yare," (1) he murmured, and set his sword for the attack. "How does Himura-san do this?"  
  
It was very tempting to use his Shuku-chi and just rap all of them across the backs of their heads with the hilt of his sword before they knew what hit them. On the other hand, he did not want to reveal so much when he had only just started to fade from the national radar--and he had no need of the Shuku-chi against highway bandits like these.  
  
The first of the 'perimeter security' agents fell to a disarming trick that ShiShiO-san had always used on him in practice; Soujiro turned the point of the man's spear aside with the blade of his sword, then rammed the hilt into the man's throat. Trying to avoid killing forced him to be a little more creative.  
  
The leader was next. Soujiro ducked under the man's swing with his spear--the man should have known better than to put all his weight behind a first attack. His momentum carried him off balance, and Soujiro came up again with a lightning slash of his sword, splitting the spear in the middle. As an added insult, he continued the circular slash and took the tip of the broken end with the point. To finish him off, Soujiro planted his foot in the man's now-unprotected stomach, and used that as a springboard for a hurricane kick to the man's jaw. Soujiro was a lot stronger than he looked, especially in his legs, and while not using the Shuku-chi, he was not exactly slow either. The leader fell and did not get up.  
  
The third highwayman was already in the air, leaping for Soujiro from the elevation of the rock on the far side of the road. Soujiro calmly spun and took him out of the air with the longest piece of the leader's spear that remained. He smiled. That move was his own, not ShiShiO-san's; he had been using it almost every day to get birds out of the air. If he could hit birds, he could hit morons.  
  
The last remaining thug had not tried to jump all the way to Soujiro straight from the rock, but had dropped down to the road first. Seeing what this smiling, innocuous little boy had just done to his five companions without taking so much as a scratch, however, he plainly regretted it. With an oath, he turned and leapt from the road, trying to leap the underbrush next to the boulder he had just jumped down from. He failed miserably, tripping over the crown of the scrub, and fell heavily on the other side. Soujiro heard him lurch into motion again, but decided not to go after him. He probably wouldn't be back. He turned and smiled innocently at Karachi and Sasaki, sheathing his katana as he did so.  
  
"Thanks for all your help, Sasaki-san," he said warmly. "I appreciated it." The other guard could only glower in sullen silence.  
  
The merchant was staring at him with a decidedly different look on his face than Soujiro had seen before. Soujiro guessed that he was revising his opinion of the blue-clad assassin, but he didn't really care that much. He calmly resumed his place on the back of the wagon, and moments later, it lurched into motion again.  
  
Soujiro had even more to think about now, and he wanted some time to think before they arrived in Ichibou. They were less than an hour from the town.  
  
How in the world had the Battousai beaten him? Fighting without trying to kill was hard! Soujiro had been fighting without rules, without limits, without conscience. Himura had sworn not to kill anything. Maybe it was easier with a sakaba, a sword not designed for killing, but that shouldn't really make that much of a difference. And yet, Himura was strong. Even constrained by his oath not to kill, he had still been stronger than Soujiro. Where did the man get his strength? Where had he found his answers? Who had helped him? Who had taught him? Skill like that was not untrained. What had happened to him in that ten years where he faded into the mists and vanished? What had he done, or what had been done to him? Would the same thing happen to Soujiro? Would the same answers work for him? Soujiro covered his face with his hands. Too many questions, too few answers. Yumi-san was right. He was ignorant.  
  
"Are you all right?" a voice asked behind him.  
  
Soujiro turned to see Karachi standing on the crates behind him, looking at him. He did not seem particularly concerned about the answer, but at least he was asking.  
  
"Anou ... I think so," Soujiro said. "Just give me time. I'll be fine." The merchant nodded and returned to the front of the wagon.  
  
*Just give me time* Soujiro thought wryly to himself. *How much time? Ten years is a long time.* He had said that he was thinking about wandering around for ten years before he found something to believe in, but it looked like that estimate might turn out to be a little small. There was no end in sight.  
  
  
*****  
  
  
CHAPTER 3:  
ICHIBOU  
  
It was almost dark by the time the wagon arrived in Ichibou. They had actually made surprisingly good time, considering that they had to stop because of the trouble on the highway and the terrain was not very friendly to wagon wheels. Soujiro had thought that they wouldn't make it until well after nightfall, though only a small part of his mind was concerned with such thoughts at the moment. Most of Soujiro didn't even notice the change in the light. Darkness, light, they all ran together for him.  
  
Soujiro returned to himself when the wagon came to the gate of the town, and the guards strode forward from the rickety gatehouse to meet them. He didn't bother trying to go into hiding this time; the ground in front of the gatehouse had been cleared, and the gatehouse itself was not the kind of thing stealth would get through--well, it might get him through, but not a wagon. He would have to play by the rules this time.  
  
The guards at the gate seemed somewhat more professional than the nominal 'perimeter securtity' band, but not by much. Soujiro moved forward with Karachi to meet them, but the merchant motioned him back. Soujiro complied, puzzled. The merchant could not possibly be going to fight them all himself. There had to be almost a dozen of them, likely with more waiting inside the gate. The merchant exchanged a few words with the captain of the guards, and a small purse changed hands. Soujiro whistled to himself. He had witnessed murders beyond number--many committed by himself--but this was the first time he had been witness to a bribe. ShiShiO-san had always frowned on such things. It made him consider how naive in some areas he still was.  
  
He took his now-familiar position on the back of the wagon again, and the wagon passed through the gate without incident. Soujiro saw that he had been right that more guards lay in waiting behind the gate, though there did not seem to be as many as he would have guessed. Apparently the majority of their force went out to meet any incoming arrivals, perhaps for intimidation, perhaps to make them believe that even more troops lay within the gatehouse. Soujiro shrugged. It probably wasn't going to matter. It was just the kind of thing he had been trained to notice. He had already subconsciously noted several different ways he could have gotten past the crude setup on his own, either through the gate or over the meager wall. Ichibou was not as well fortified as a town of its importance should be.  
  
The strategic importance of the town was obvious even though the actual iron mine itself was out of sight of the south gate. The town rang with the sound of smithies and iron-wrights, and a foundry the size of a small palace dominated the southwest corner of the town. Noise and smoke seemed to emanate from every door.  
  
The town was even dirtier than Soujiro had feared it would be. The streets looked like they hadn't been cleaned in years, and it seemed there was a junkyard on every lot where a small park might once have stood. The people were no better; their clothes were shabby and threadbare, their faces unwashed, their hair untended, and their eyes downcast and dull. Many, including women and children, went barefoot. There was a general atmosphere of sorrow.  
  
Soujiro took all this in stride. It was by far the most unkempt environment he had ever been in, but human misfortune did not trouble him. He didn't like seeing people like this--he liked to see strength, and he was definitely not seeing it here--but there wasn't anything he could do about it. So he let it all wash over him. ShiShiO-san would have gone as far as to say that the people deserved what they got, because they were weak. Soujiro no longer believed that, but he did not believe that it was his mission to defend them because they could not defend themselves.  
  
A troubling thought came to him then. Wasn't that what Himura-san did, though? He protected the weak and helpless, and somehow he had found a way to make peace with his past by doing so. Soujiro desperately wanted to make that peace as well--if nothing else, so he would never have to endure another episode like Himura put him through at ShiShiO-san headquarters--but what could he defend these people against? The greatest warriors ever could still only fight what they could see. There didn't seem to be any army here. He had heard that the Yakuza held power in the area, but he couldn't pick them out of the crowd. Their leaders would be far better dressed and better fed, of course, but they probably wouldn't be out and about on the streets. He had heard that Senkaku was in the area, perhaps having fallen in with the local Yakuza as well. Soujiro would not put it past him. But neither Senkaku nor any of his cronies, if he had any here, were out and about openly oppressing these people. They simply acted as though there were someone with their foot on the backs of their necks anyway. How was he supposed to protect these people if he didn't know or couldn't see what he was supposed to protect them from?  
  
Soujiro realized that there were soldiers and guards in the village. He occasionally saw groups of two or three of them lounging in the streets or in restaurants as the wagon rolled through town on the way to whichever inn Karachi had in mind. And yet, most of those soldiers looked like they enjoyed almost no training with either sword or spear. There weren't even all that many of them, and most of them were concentrated at the gatehouses. Soujiro guessed that many people could go an entire day without seeing more than one or two groups of them, and they had to outnumber the soldiers by almost twenty to one. With those kinds of odds against men that could probably barely handle their weapons anyway, the people shouldn't have been reduced to this state by military force.  
  
The wagon reached the Iron Dragon Inn, the second best of three in town, without mishap. Karachi went to check in, while Soujiro and Sasaki helped secure the wagon within the stables in the rear. That was the real reason Karachi had chosen this place, not out of any desire to scrimp on the ritzier Golden Eyrie a short distance away. The stables here were more secure, and had no windows. For the first time, Soujiro wondered what it was that was in the crates he had been guarding for several hours now. When he asked Sasaki about it, however, his response was a sharp "Shut the hell up, it's none of our business as long as we get paid." Soujiro shook his head sadly, and his mouth tightened imperceptibly. He was not angry, he was never angry, but he knew ShiShiO-san would never have tolerated such shallow-minded incivility.  
  
Excusing himself, he went to find the merchant, which did not take long. The merchant had already put down roots in the common room of the inn, and was enjoying a double-sized flask of sake with a hearty meal of scallops and rice pilaf. The room was not that crowded, as only half the tables were full, but it was noisy, as merchants from north and south discussed the prospects for their wares and destinations. The inn was run by a small extended family, and the two daughters, no older than Soujiro himself, were both busy working the tables, while their father ran a small bar in an alcove in the back of the room. The merchant gave a small guilty shrug when he saw Soujiro, even perhaps a bit annoyed, as the sight reminded him that he had promised the smiling lad food and lodging equal to his own, but Soujiro was not after food.  
  
"Excuse me, but will you be needing me for the rest of the night?" Soujiro asked.  
  
"Well, probably not for a few hours, anyway," the merchant replied quickly, relieved that Soujiro was not about to ask for scallops as well. "But I've heard that the streets aren't particularly safe here after midnight, and the inns aren't immune either, so I don't want you to be out too late. I'm paying you for protection, not sightseeing, remember." Nonetheless, even with the warning, it was plain that Karachi was not about to try keeping the boy here; sightseeing was cheaper than scallops.  
  
"I'll be back well before midnight," Soujiro promised.  
  
"And stay out of trouble," the merchant warned as Soujiro turned to the door.  
  
Soujiro's mouth tightened a little at that, too, though he smiled right over the top of it as he always did. Trouble? When had he ever gotten into trouble?  
  
*****  
  
(1) Oh well  
  
  
COMING SOON: Chapters 4 & 5, "The Streets of Ichibou" and "The Yakuza." The more Soujiro looks, the more he understands the silent suffering of the people. The more he thinks on them, aside from making his head hurt, the more he understands his own silent suffering over the years spent with ShiShiO.   
  
Senkaku is indeed back in town, and Soujiro discovers that he is not the only one who has changed since ShiShiO's defeat. However, Soujiro suspects there is something more dangerous in town than the ex-autocrat of Shingetsu.  
  
Please leave your comments, and thank you for your praise of the prelude and chapter one! Sorry to keep you waiting with this. I hope you like it as much as the first part. Viva Soujiro! 


	3. Chapters 4 & 5

DISCLAIMER: We both know I don't own Soujiro, ShiShiO, Kenshin, Senkaku, or any of the other characters that are making Watsuki Nobuhiro and his corporate sponsors/affiliates rich. If I did, I could afford a better computer than the piece of crap that I'm using to write this. I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. If not ... chikushou, aku baka!  
That reminds me ... my Japanese is next to nonexistent. Don't fault me for it. At least I'm trying.  
Happy reading!  
  
ANTI-DISCLAIMER (would that be just a "claimer?"): Some of these characters ARE my own creation, as well as many elements of the setting; the town of Ichibou, Kim Young-eun, Karachi Hoebu, and several other minor characters are my own ideas. Use your head. If it never appeared in any of the Kenshin series episodes, then it's probably mine. Not that anyone cares but me.  
  
SPOILERS/BACKGROUND: To Kenshin TV ep 61, "Remaining Ju Pon Gattana, Choice of Life."  
  
*****  
  
  
CHAPTER 4:  
THE STREETS OF ICHIBOU  
  
The shadows had deepened considerably in the time it had taken for Soujiro to help stable the wagon and get permission to explore the town for a while. The spreading darkness gradually absorbed the sight of the filth that covered the streets, but their smell still permeated the otherwise crisp mountain air. The smell was not as bad as it would have been if a brisk breeze was not blowing in out of the pass to the north, but breeze and smell alike passed by Soujiro unnoticed. He had been trained to ignore such things.  
  
Soujiro was glad of the newfound darkness. He needed some time to be alone, and he felt safer in the dark than he did in daylight. He had been told that other mothers in Japan told their children that dark things lurked in the darkness. Soujiro had never had a real mother. He had killed his adoptive one. He guessed that made him one of those dark things. He was in a dark mood.  
  
It had been a long time since Soujiro had been afraid of street thugs, even in groups. He thought he spied a band of them once, but they could have been just a group of town guards not in uniform. The guards here were obviously not known for their personal hygiene. Soujiro steered away from them, and he doubted any of them ever knew of his presence. He had come within thirty strides of them, but it was dark, and the streets were very poorly lit, even on the main thoroughfares. Even other Hitokiri had trouble sensing his presence. He had no aura the way other elite fighters did. That was at once a strength and a weakness; he could not terrify opponents with his battle aura the way Himura and ShiShiO had been able to. On the other hand, it also meant that he was nearly impossible to read or sense. It was said that the Shinsen Gumi could sense the presence of one of their captains even through stone walls fifty paces away. No one sensed Soujiro until he was right on top of them. No one sensed him at all if he wanted to avoid them. One of the dark things in the night, indeed.  
  
Soujiro was looking to do a little more than hide tonight, however. There was something about Ichibou that confused him, and Soujiro was unused to being confused. He could not quite put his finger on it; of course, if he could, the odds were that he wouldn't be confused. So he searched.  
  
He had no clear direction in mind when he began his wandering, but more and more, he found his steps headed in the direction of the foundry and the sprawling industrial sector that formed the southwest side of the town. The sounds of the smithies still rang in the night air, even louder now that the daily bustle of the open-air market and other daytime social spots had ended for the evening. As Soujiro wandered further and further to the southwest, he began to hear the sounds of society again, however, and he began to encounter groups of people making their way through the streets on their way to or from some social destination.  
  
Most of the people he saw, however, gave him and his katanas distrusting looks and hurried on, if they saw him at all. Many scuttled right past, less than ten feet from him, with their eyes so downcast that Soujiro doubted they ever knew he was there. The air of depression did thin somewhat as he made his way into the industrial zone, but it never vanished from the back of Soujiro's mind.  
  
Then Soujiro turned a corner, and his eyes widened. He had been drawn to this street simply because he had seen that it looked like it was somewhat more lit than the rest of the area. Standing at one end of it and looking down its length, he realized how much of an understatement that was.  
  
He was on the southernmost street in Ichibou. To his left, the southern wall of the town rose crudely but darkly against the midnight blue of the Japanese evening sky. Aside from that, however, the darkness of Ichibou was gone. Lights danced before his vision from a dozen, a hundred different venues on both sides of the street. Lights blazed in windows, in doorframes, and under awnings. Many were in various shades of red, green, and blue, colored by translucent filters of fine cloth. The street stretched down for as far as Soujiro could see, almost to the southwest corner of the wall, where it ended at the gates of what looked to be a small compound, perhaps a guard's barracks. It was impossible for Soujiro to tell at this distance ... which meant the street was long.  
  
There were people, too, more than Soujiro had seen during the entire hour that he had wandered around before arriving here. Many were dressed like they were going to a festival or a party, and the air was full of conversation. Soft music and singing drifted out of a half-dozen different doors within Soujiro's hearing. What on earth was this place?  
  
The answer came to him as soon as he recovered from his initial surprise enough to glance at some of the words illuminated in such brilliant colors and lights. "Delirium," read one sign. "Dark Rapture," read another. More than one displayed plugs for exotic dancers, and even more pegged one drink special or another. Signs for gambling were interspersed among them as well. Soujiro had stumbled headfirst into Ichibou's red light district.  
  
At first, Soujiro was tempted to turn around and leave. He had never really had a penchant for hanging out in such places. On the other hand, that had usually been because he had someplace cleaner and in somewhat better repair to hang out. This place looked like it was actually better kept than much of the town, despite the fact that the streets were in the worst repair of anywhere in the city only a block away. From the looks of things, business was booming. A tiny corner of Soujiro blushed at the thought. Then again, Yumi-san had come from a place like this, and had lived there for a long time before she fell in with ShiShiO-san. Soujiro wondered why she had never taken him someplace like this before. Maybe she wanted to leave it all behind for some reason; Soujiro had always held a special bond with her because he sensed that her past was as painful as his own, and if a place like this had been part of it, she was right not to want to go back. The people here seemed to be having fun, however.  
  
After another moment's hesitation, Soujiro stepped forward into the full light of the street. He was immediately set on by the doormen of two different establishments, a disappointingly modest looking club called the Fiery Fan and what appeared to be a somewhat more successful casino, Well of Fortune.  
  
"Hey, little boy!" the first called. "Looking for a good time? We got plenty o' room to spare!"  
  
"Baka!" the other answered. "His club can't tell good music from cats screaming! Come on, boy! Give us a try, you won't find a better time in town!"  
  
Soujiro's mouth tightened again, and he hurried on. For some reason, being called 'boy' had never rankled him so much. Yumi-san had called him that all the time, but these people were not her. Being called 'boy' by complete strangers was not the way to win his business. Besides, his purse strings were fairly tight. Karachi had not paid him yet, and he didn't feel like wasting any of the cache he had managed to grab during his escape from Kyoto on drinks or gambling. So he simply walked on by and out into the middle of the street like the other two did not even exist.  
  
All the way down the street, the story was the same. "Boy," this. "Boy," that. The kinds of businesses didn't matter. Clubs, taverns, restaurants, casinos, even a clothier that apparently specialized in nightlife garb all had someone at the door trying to usher in his business, and their hook lines were almost all identical. Soujiro smiled at them politely ... and kept on ignoring them.  
  
Soujiro was almost at the end of the street when he saw a place that might suit him. He was after information, and it sounded like there was more talking than music coming from inside this place. The sign above the entrance read simply "The Red House," and indeed most of the letters and lights on the building were in red. It was a long, flat establishment, and apparently the front half of the building was all one large common room. Looking through the door, he saw a fairly large and talkative crowd, and most looked like locals, not outsiders like himself. He nodded to himself, then to the doorman, tossed him a coin for the cover, and went into a red light district establishment for the first time in his life.  
  
The crowd within the establishment was as large and festive as it had appeared from the outside. Soujiro quickly estimated that there had to be at least forty patrons, and the air was filled with conversation and people shouting at the waitresses for drinks. Many of the patrons looked like they had already had plenty of the latter; Soujiro did not need a particularly refined sense of smell to detect sake on the breath of at least half the people in the room. Even one of the waitresses looked like she might have been drinking on the job, given the way she stumbled from table to table.  
  
Soujiro took a small table to himself as close to the middle of the room as he could manage, and simply let his awareness drift out over the crowd as he had done before in the little restaurant on the road. Most of the conversation was useless, but here and there he picked out mentions of troubles, both on the road and in the mines. One person whispered something about someone having been "sent to the mines" as though the person was already dead. Another whispered something about a sister that had been "taken in by the Hall" as though it were equally a calamity.   
  
"Sumimasen," a soft voice spoke behind him. "Are you ready to order?"  
  
Soujiro wheeled around. Standing before him was a fairly normal-seeming girl, probably two or three years younger than he himself and dressed in a standard waitress' uniform. However, there was something about her that completely surprised Soujiro. He had not sensed her presence until the moment she opened her mouth to speak. He began to suspect he was losing his touch.  
  
"Anou ... uh, I think I need a few more minutes," he managed politely.  
  
"Sure," the waitress said with a calm smile, and moved on to another table.  
  
Soujiro stared after the girl for a moment. She had a faint but odd accent, as though she were not from anywhere on the islands that he knew about. She also had a poise and balance about her movements that spoke of being in outstanding physical shape, much more so than the vast majority of Japanese women.  
  
Another man was coming up behind Soujiro, but he needed no heightened awareness to hear this one coming. The man moved like a drunken ox. "Admiring little Young-eun?" the man said, taking a seat next to Soujiro without even bothering to ask.  
  
Soujiro turned his attention to this new face. "No, she just surprised me, that's all," he replied. "Am I supposed to admire her?"  
  
The man laughed. "Oh, most of us do, boy, most of us do." Soujiro had no idea what the man was talking about; his first guess was that the man had drained one more flask of sake than was good for him.  
  
The man continued, ignoring Soujiro's cold shoulder. "New in town, eh? You picked the right night to come here. She doesn't work more than two or three nights a week. They keep her doin' other stuff most days."  
  
"It didn't sound like she's from in town, either," Soujiro pointed out.  
  
"No, no, she's from the mainland, or so I hear. Korea, if I remember. Long time ago, though. She's one of us, now." Soujiro's mind flickered back to the first good image he had gotten of the girl. Maybe this man believed she was just another citizen, and maybe the rest of the town believed it, maybe even the girl herself, but he didn't. There was something about her that was very different from the other people in the town. He couldn't put his finger on it.  
  
He was still sorting through his memory when a sudden new sensation made the hackles on the back of his neck rise. His back was to the door, but he knew that a group of people had just walked through it that the rest of the patrons were none too happy to see. He quickly made sure that his swords were invisible from the doorway, and peeked in that direction out of the corner of his eye.  
  
A group of five men were walking across the room in his direction. They were clad in black leather armor and had a red sigil of some kind emblazoned upon their breasts. All carried swords, and walked with the confidence of people who knew that they were in charge. The leader, shorter than the rest, wore a red bandana and bore an impressive scar across his left eye. They stopped at his table. Soujiro still gave no sign that he had seen them. It turned out to be for the best, as far as he was concerned.  
  
"Haitou, what are you doing here?" the leader asked smugly. Soujiro suddenly understood why the man who had been talking to him had suddenly fallen silent and ashen-faced. He somehow doubted that these men were here to award him a prize.  
  
"Hi guys," the man slurred. He had definitely had far too much to drink. He even still had a flask in his hand.  
  
Soujiro tried to be as inconspicuous as possible, even though the black-garbed group was all standing around him. The rest of the people in the room were trying the exact same thing, though the air of discomfort that Soujiro had been missing earlier was clearly palpable now. Nonetheless, they seemed to somehow understand that they wouldn't be involved if they didn't choose to make themselves involved, so they all huddled at their respective tables like children at the windows waiting for the lightning to go away so they could go out and play again.  
  
One of the other soldiers laughed grimly. "Haitou, why the hell aren't you out of town by now? We even gave you time. As well you didn't, though. Senkaku-sama wants to have a little talk with you." The man actually flinched at the mention of that name! Soujiro had to hold back a smile! He was even more surprised when the man actually got up and allowed the five mysterious figures to escort him from the room; although his eyes were downcast and frightened, he did not seem to be fighting. Soujiro was so stunned that he forgot to interject something in the man's behalf, though on second thought, that might have done more damage than good, anyway. Nonetheless, he really didn't want to see any harm befall the man, even if he had been a little offensive.  
  
Less than a minute after the men were gone, life was as usual in the Red House. It was as if the entire episode had never happened. Another minute or two after that, Young-eun came back to ask if he was ready to order yet.  
  
"Anou ... aa," Soujiro said finally. He glanced up at the large menu plaque that filled a large part of the wall near the entrance. "Just the tofu and baked rice," he continued. "And just water to drink," he added.  
  
"Sure, just a minute," she said, and began to turn away.  
  
"Anou ..." Soujiro called, not sure what to call her; he was certainly not about to use her name, not when he hadn't even met her. Yumi-san would come back from the grave and scold him in public if he did that.  
  
The girl stopped and turned around again.  
  
"Anou ..." he was going to have to stop beginning every sentence with that. "That man ... the man they just took ... what's going to happen to him?" he asked.  
  
The girl shrugged. "I doubt they'll kill him. He'll probably get sent to the mines." The way she said it made it sound like she was reading a grocery list, despite the fact that less than an hour ago, he had heard another group mention being sent to the mines in a hushed whisper filled with dread and anxiety. Obviously getting sent to these mines was not a pleasant experience. The girl managed to treat it casually anyway, like it was of no more or less concern than his order.  
  
She turned and walked away again, and for the second time that night, Soujiro found himself staring at her back and wondering what it was about her that was so different from everyone else. It could not possibly be just because she was originally from another country, could it? If it was, he wondered what kind of place this Korea must be.  
  
He took another good look around the room while the girl was gone. The red-filtered lights in the house gave the place an almost surreal quality; if it had not been managed well, he might even have called it hellish. There was table space enough for perhaps forty people; he had one of the few tables available with an open seat, and his was only a table for two. A small dance floor lay on one side of the tables, with a small stage on the far side. It was not being used at the moment, but it bore the general signs of frequent use. On the other side of the tables from the dance floor were the kitchens and latrines, and immediately in front of them, the bar. It had a surprising amount of Western influence blended into its design, Soujiro realized, even though the decor was strictly local.  
  
Before long, he espied the girl returning. Soujiro took a second, quizzical look at the trays in her hand; she had brought twice what he had ordered. There was no way he was going to eat all that. As it turned out, he was absolutely right.  
  
"Here you are," she said with a smile as she laid his order in front of him. She hesitated, then continued, "Both the servants' tables are being used, do you mind if I sit here? I'm on my break."  
  
Soujiro did not hesitate in his response. "Please," he said, rising to hold her chair for her as she sat down. She smiled as he did so; she probably was not used to such manners in a town like this, Soujiro reasoned cynically. Not everything ShiShiO-san had said was a lie, or about war. "Disrespect to a woman," he had instructed shortly after taking the tiny terror under his wing, "is an affront to the samurai code of honor itself. Those who would call themselves samurai and disregard the feelings of a single woman are nothing but pretenders."  
  
"Can I ask your name?" Soujiro asked as he resumed his seat. "I'd rather not call you 'waitress' the whole time." The girl's smile warmed, but only barely. It still lit up her entire face. She was like Yumi-san in that, if nothing else.  
  
"Ah, sumimasen," she replied without a touch of embarrassment. "Young-eun. Kim Young-eun, but just call me Young-eun, please."  
  
Soujiro nodded. "Seta Soujiro," he responded in kind without having to be asked.  
  
Young-eun nodded in acknowledgement. "So what is a boy like you doing in a place like this?" she asked.  
  
"A boy like me?" Soujiro asked blankly. For once, the address 'boy' did not tighten the corners of his mouth like it usually did. He simply didn't know what she was talking about.  
  
Young-eun smiled. "You've got more manners than the rest of this lot put together, and you're younger than just about anyone here but us." She gestured at her waitress' uniform. "This doesn't seem to be your kind of place."  
  
"Ah," Soujiro said, scrambling for his answer. It was especially difficult because he really didn't have one, even for himself. He answered somewhat lamely, "I just wanted to see the area."  
  
Young-eun gave a low laugh. "Wanted to see the area? You must've come from somewhere pretty ugly if this is your idea of a scenic tour."  
  
Soujiro shook his head. "I'm from Kyoto." The girl gave a start. "Hmm?" he asked wordlessly.  
  
"Nothing ... anou ... it's just ... you're a long way from home," she finished. Her answer was as lame as his had been, though she didn't give any hint that she knew it. She reminded him of someone, but he couldn't quite put his finger on who.  
  
"It's not my home," he replied emotionlessly. "I'm never going back there again." This time he had to force himself to sit still to keep from starting at his words just the way Young-eun had. *I'm never going back there again.* Ten years ago, a red-haired teenager of about his age had said the exact same thing before vanishing into the wilderness.  
  
The girl actually seemed interested, though. "Really?" she asked. "Why not?"  
  
Soujiro shrugged. "I guess I just didn't like it there." It was true enough, in its way, though it ignored most of the big picture. "I needed to get out on my own for a while." That captured a little more of it.  
  
"You could do that?" Young-eun asked. "Just get up and leave?" Her eyes were wide with surprise and ... what? Something else ... frustration? Envy? Soujiro couldn't tell, but it was plain that the question meant a lot to her.  
  
"I guess so," he answered simply. "Though food and money got to be a problem after a while." That was not entirely true; he still had a lot of ShiShiO's money squirreled away, but that did not enter his mind often.  
  
"So you're here looking for work?" she asked skeptically.  
  
"Oh no, not now. I'm a merchant's guard at the moment."  
  
"Really?"  
  
"Just for a few days."  
  
Her laugh this time was a little more open than her last one. "Just until whoever it is gets through town, eh? Smart merchant."  
  
"I guess so. Mostly I just sit on the back of the wagon and think."  
  
"You think? Wow. You really aren't like other merchants' guards." Soujiro knew she was making a joke, but it had been years since he had laughed, and she really wasn't all that good at making jokes. Her voice didn't have the inflections that others had when trying to be funny. Of course, Soujiro had never laughed at them.  
  
"Are you the merchant's son or something?" Young-eun asked.  
  
Soujiro's eyes widened imperceptibly for a moment. "Iie! Iie!" he gasped. "Merchants don't hire their sons as guards, at least I don't think so." Did they? He had never even thought about. But why would they? His head hurt again.  
  
"I didn't think so either," Young-eun admitted, "but you have more the look of a merchant's son than a merchant's guard. Just wondering."  
  
Soujiro looked down at himself. He guessed she was right. He really didn't dress that much like Sasaki. "I haven't been one that long," he admitted. If he did this forever, would he end up looking like Sasaki and the other merchants' guards he had seen? That was a definite reason to get out of the profession early.  
  
"So why did you become one now? You really don't look like the kind of boy who wants to do that kind of thing for a living."  
  
*That's a good thing,* Soujiro thought to himself. "I really don't know what I want to do now. I'm kind of off on my own for the first time."  
  
"It must be nice," she said, with that same touch of emotion that she had asked about his ability to just get up and leave. Soujiro suddenly wondered if she was as happy here as she seemed at first glance; she seemed to be enjoying her job more than any of the other girls working as waitresses here, but he wondered if she really was. Once again, she reminded him of someone, but he could not put his finger on whom.  
  
"Would you really want to just get up and leave if you could?" he asked her. He had never been much good at subtlety, despite years of being an assassin. Nonetheless, he immediately regretted saying it, because she turned her face away from him, and a shiver ran through her. It was all the answer he needed.  
  
"I'm sorry," he apologized immediately. "I had no right to ask that."  
  
She held up her hand. "No, no, it's OK," she answered. "I'm just not ... I could get in trouble if I talked to you any more," she answered. The suddenness of that remark startled Soujiro. "I need to get back to work," she said, her voice as cold as ever again. Without warning, she stood up and slid her chair in. "Enjoy your meal, Soujiro-kun. It's on the house." Without even waiting for a thank you, or an offer to pay for it anyway, she turned and walked back towards the kitchen. For the third time that evening, Soujiro was stuck staring at her back in silent puzzlement.  
  
Soujiro watched her until she reached the kitchen entrance, where a burly, middle-sized man was waiting for her with a stern expression on his face. She bowed her head meekly as she went by the man into the kitchen without even looking at him, but his eyes followed her all the way into the kitchen, the look on his face never changing. As soon as she was inside, he stepped away from the doorframe, into the kitchen, and out of sight.  
  
Soujiro ate slowly, trying to digest tenfold as much information as food. He realized now that the girl had said very little about herself, having done most of the questioning herself. She had had to go back to work before saying much about herself, and she had made Soujiro very curious. She had been very forward for a woman, especially a servant of any kind, in asking to sit down with him, but on the other hand, she also seemed extremely shy and withdrawn about many things. Maybe even most things. The idea of leaving home had definitely struck a nerve in her, though, and Soujiro guessed it was much more than usual teenage fantasies about travel and adventure. She had not asked about anything he had seen on his travels, or if he had been in any battles, or anything else about his journey. The only thing that had seemed to matter was the fact that he was on a journey at all. The more he thought about it, the more convinced he became. She was definitely a lot less happy than she had let on. She had given no reason, however.  
  
Young-eun came out of the kitchen several minutes after disappearing into it, but did not speak to him again. She avoided his table. A full hour passed, and she did not come within a table of him once. He was going to have to catch up with her again, but it could not be here, not without being more conspicuous than he wanted to be. Even he possessed more subtlety than that.  
  
Eventually, the tofu and rice disappeared, and Soujiro had run out of excuses to stay. He wasn't accomplishing anything by staying, anyway; he was just taking up space at a table, and the room was noisy, which made thinking hurt his head that much more. Young-eun had said the meal was on the house, which meant he couldn't even call her over to pay his bill. So he simply got up, belted his swords up again, and headed for the exit. As he reached the door, he turned and looked for Young-eun again. He saw her, and she saw him, but the expression she turned towards him was neutral, just a very faint smile that did not touch her eyes. Soujiro couldn't read it one way or the other. Shaking his head, he turned and strolled out once again into the streets of Ichibou.  
  
The street that had seemed so appealing to him earlier was not quite what he was in the mood for now. It was still well-lit and festive, but Soujiro wanted some time alone at the moment. He strolled off the street--South Street, he noticed the name as he left--and headed for the murky solitude of the darkness two blocks away. As he drew farther away from South Street, the quality of the buildings deteriorated into the more familiar disrepair that he had been used to seeing in the slums. The streets were dirty again, and the smell was strong in his nostrils again now that there weren't a thousand distractions from it in sight.  
  
Something had clearly happened between Young-eun and that man, whoever he was. He was not smart enough to deduce what it might be, but he was not dumb enough to miss it altogether. However, even after almost an hour of strolling the streets, racking his brain for answers, he was nowhere close to anything worth dwelling on. He still had a couple of hours left before he promised to be back at the Iron Dragon, but he was tempted to go back early and just forget the whole thing. It was too much thinking. He thought about the man by the doorway, the sudden offer of free food, the talkative man who had been removed by the black-clad men, and the crowd that had been sitting near him. He thought about the strange Korean girl that managed to be both bold and shy at the same time. More and more, he thought about Young-eun. There was something about her that was clearly different from the other people in the club, much more than could be explained by her being from a different country. She fascinated Soujiro; she reminded him of someone, of that he was sure. And somehow, she was clearly involved in something that she didn't want to be involved in.  
  
He turned his footsteps back towards South Street. He still had plenty of time to kill, and even if he didn't come up with any more answers that night, he had enjoyed South Street. He needed a little more relaxation. He had done too much thinking. His brain was tired.  
  
He arrived back at South Street a good distance from the Red House, but he immediately cast his eyes in that direction nonetheless. The crowd in the street had actually grown, not diminished, in the two hours since Soujiro first entered the club. Still, Soujiro was able to get a few decent glimpses of the distant doorway. His eyes narrowed when he got his first good look. A man stood outside the door, and it was not the doorman that he had casually flipped the cover charge to so short an eternity ago. It did seem that way at times. But now the man's place had been taken by the same man that he had seen in the kitchen doorway only an hour before. Soujiro could see that he was scanning the crowd, trying to be inconspicuous about it but not doing a very good job of it. At least, not by Soujiro's standards. Soujiro wondered if he was looking for him.  
  
Suddenly, another figure in the crowd drew Soujiro's attention, and Soujiro realized that it wasn't him that the man from the kitchen was looking for, at least not only him. A black-garbed figure came into view, and a silent look passed between him and the man at the door of the Red House. It took only a moment to resolve into the short, stocky figure of the man who had removed Haitou from the Red House only hours earlier. Wordlessly, the pair walked off together around the side of the building.  
  
Immediately, Soujiro wanted to know what they were saying. Reacting instinctively, he simply wandered out into the crowd. Mingling was an art of his, though he scarcely considered himself an artist. Nonetheless, he slid through the crowd like a soft breeze, swiftly yet barely seeming to be in any hurry whatsoever. However, he was still fifteen paces or more away from the entrance to the alley when he saw a shadow that warned him that at least one or the other was emerging. He quickly sprang into the shelter of the alley nearest him, placing a building in between him and the shadow. He then glanced around the side.  
  
The short, black-garbed man was the only one to emerge; Soujiro guessed that the other probably had a side entrance to the Red House, if he wasn't just hanging out in the alley so that he wouldn't be seen any more than necessary with the other. Or maybe he just had to relieve himself. At the moment, Soujiro didn't care. The man that had come out of the alley was walking with a definite purpose, and quickly reached the dimmer light of the street on the far side of South Street. Soujiro suddenly saw four other dark shadows in the dim light that had escaped his notice before. They did not move until the first man reached them, and then they simply melted away to the north and out of sight. Soujiro's eyes narrowed again. He had a very bad feeling about this. Quickly, he hurried across the street and took a street parallel to the one they had left on.  
  
It did not take him long to find them; they turned east as soon as they were away from South Street, and thus they came out in front of him from the left shortly after he reached the shelter of the shadows. They were heading northeast. They turned north again as soon as they came out of the street to Soujiro's left, and turned right immediately and the next street to the north. Soujiro followed them wordlessly, but in his gut, a suspicion was growing that grew louder at every turn.  
  
*Someone checked up on me,* he thought grimly to himself. *Young-eun must have told them something.*  
  
As the group made its silent way through the dark streets of Ichibou towards to the Iron Dragon Inn, Soujiro's hand subconsciously drew closer and closer to his sword. He had a feeling he was going to need it.  
  
  
*****  
  
  
CHAPTER 5:  
THE YAKUZA  
  
Soujiro sat silently in the darkness of the stable of the Iron Dragon Inn, hidden in the deep shadow behind Karachi's wagon. His new katana rested idly across his lap. A single torch was all that kept the room from pitch darkness, and it was on the far side of the wagon from Soujiro. The stable was not large, but it was not small, either, and it was empty. Sasaki was nowhere in sight.  
  
They were out there, he knew. He could feel their anticipation even through wooden walls. They would come. They were just waiting for their chance. It was only a matter of time.  
  
As soon as he had been absolutely sure that the black-garbed group was indeed headed for the Iron Dragon, he had slipped off down another street and raced back to the inn ahead of them. Quickly, he had extinguished all but one of the torches in the stable, and he had placed a bucket of water under the last. He intended to cut the tip off of that as soon as possible, and he didn't want to start a fire; he also didn't want them to be able to without going into the inn, unless they had brought their own torches. He didn't think any of them had. He had also sent the single remaining stableboy away with a few yen and instructions to take a break for an hour or so. He didn't need other people getting in the way, and he certainly didn't want any blabbermouthed adolescent seeing what he was capable of and announcing it to the entire town. The others would see it, of course, but they would be more loath to speak of it.  
  
A slight change in the air was all that told him he was no longer alone in the stable. He sighed wistfully. "Yare yare," (1) he murmured to himself for the second time that day as he stepped out from behind the wagon, carrying his new katana in its sheath and leaving his old one hidden in the shadow underneath the wagon.  
  
The five men were just crossing the threshhold of the stable, and were still some distance away from Soujiro, because the stable door was at the west end of the stable and Karachi's wagon had been stabled in the easternmost stall. The torch was almost evenly spaced between them, so they could each see each other, though not clearly.  
  
"Konnichiha," (2) he greeted them. "Are you looking for someone?"  
  
They stopped. Gradually, the leader came forward into the torchlight. Soujiro came forward to meet him, he didn't want anyone closer to that torch than he himself.  
  
"You, actually," the short, black-armored man responded. "I think we might need to have a talk with you."  
  
"With me? About what?" Soujiro was not dumb enough to think that they were really here to talk, but he decided to play dumb anyway. If these people hadn't seen him fight before, then the odds were that they didn't know as much about him as they thought. He had not told Young-eun that much about himself. She might have seen his swords, but she had never even asked about it.  
  
The leader did not answer him directly. Instead, he nodded towards Karachi's wagon. "That's a precious load of cargo you're guarding there," he said. "It would be a shame if anything bad should happen to it. Especially while you're guarding it."  
  
Soujiro continued to play dumb. "Well, I'm a merchant's guard. I make sure nothing bad happens to it."  
  
The leader and a few of his followers chuckled grimly. "You weren't doing a very good job of guarding it earlier tonight."  
  
"I didn't need to be back until midnight. I'm actually starting early."  
  
"A merchant let his guard away from his ward? You must have a very kind employer."  
  
Soujiro though about that for a moment, then shrugged. "Not really. But I doubt yours is very kind either." He said it simply, not meaning it to be a question.  
  
"You would do very well to remember that," the leader snarled.  
  
"Why? I don't work for him."  
  
"No, but you might find that more people than you might care to believe do."  
  
"Such as Young-eun-chan?" Soujiro asked. His tone was as level as it had ever been, but the man suddenly burst out in anger.  
  
"She is none of your business!" he shouted. Then, in a deadly whisper that might have chilled any other man, he said, "I think our conversation is finished. Get out of Ichibou. Now. There will be a little inn fire here, and we can make it seem like you were caught in it. Or we can make it so you actually were. The choice is yours."  
  
Soujiro's eyes narrowed. "Iie," (3) he said firmly. "The choice is yours." He took a step forward.  
  
"There will be no fire." He took another step.  
  
"This wagon and I will leave Ichibou tomorrow." He took another.  
  
"And you will stop hurting Young-eun-chan, however it is that you are." He stopped, standing less than two paces from the leader. His fellows had either fully or partly drawn their swords, and they stood around him now in a cluster.  
  
"If the Yakuza has a problem with this, you can resolve it with me. Either way, you leave her alone. One is just much less painful. For you." They did not bat an eyelid at the mention of the Yakuza; that answered that question. Soujiro's voice was completely innocent, and the small torchlit face smiling emotionlessly in the dim torchlight looked utterly harmless, even foolish in uttering such daring words.   
  
The man's katana slid free of his sheath.  
  
Soujiro merely thumbed his an inch free of its scabbard and crouched slightly, weight balanced on his front foot and ready to spring forward.  
  
"Have it your way," the man growled. "Kill him."  
  
The Yakuza henchmen rushed forward as a mob, swords raised. Their battle cries turned to cries of confusion and fright, however, as Soujiro sprang into action. His blade came free of the sheath as he leapt forward, and he knew the gangsters would focus on it. He used the moment's confusion to crack the leader across the bridge of his nose with the sheath. At the same moment, the Oh-waza-mono blade neatly clipped the tip off the lone remaining torch. Darkness enveloped the stable with a steamy hiss as the burning tip fell into the water bucket.  
  
Soujiro took advantage of their momentary confusion. Their silhouettes were still clear to his eyes, and he could feel their presences as differences in the air, even if none of them were strong enough to have a true battle aura.  
  
Standing in a small clear space in the midst of them, he asked politely, "Everyone OK?" There were roars of rage from all around him, then from below him. Driving himself skyward with his powerful legs, he had vaulted up into the rafters well above the heads of his assailants.  
  
Meanwhile, below him, there were screams of confusion and pain. Two of the Yakuza had reacted instinctively and slashed at the place where he had been, naturally meeting the blades and bodies of their comrades. It took a full thirty seconds for the leader to get them all under control again, as the two that had immediately attacked their comrades had been countered instinctively by those comrades, everyone believing they were fending off the blade of the pesky merchant's guard. Soujiro smiled appreciatively. Yumi-san might have been right; he was not brilliant. But at least he wasn't stupid enough to be a mobster.  
  
"Dammit! That's me, Yoshiro!"  
  
"Matsuo, stop it!"  
  
"Hayashi, give it up! It's me!"  
  
"STOP!" bellowed the leader at last. He had had to fend off the blade of one of his own men for a moment. "Baka! Baka baka baka baka bakabakabakabaka BAKA!!!!" (4) When silence reigned for a moment, he roared again, "Where is he?!"  
  
Soujiro landed lightly at the wide door of the stable, allowing his silhouette to be outlined in the moonlight and the crystal spark of the legendary sword to glitter under the stars. "Again," he asked politely, "is everyone OK?" Feeling that the leader might need a little extra push, he added, "Any noses broken?"  
  
He had successfully divided them. Two of them came raging at him in spite of their leaders efforts to call them back, while the other three stayed hidden in the darkness.  
  
Soujiro held his sword horizontally in front of him, wrist twisted down so the flat of the blade faced the oncoming pair. He was remembering a move he had invented on the spot to stop a striking snake in the dark shortly after leaving Kyoto, and had nearly perfected since then.  
  
"Aoi Denkou Ryu," he called out, "Meimei Moui Sen!" (5)  
  
Both of his attackers were holding their swords almost at head level, so diving in under them barely even required any effort. A moment later, as they came within range, Soujiro uncoiled skyward, simultaneously unwinding his legs, torso, arms, and wrist. The flat side of his blade crashed into all four of their arms at a blistering speed. Their swords went flying skyward, while they themselves went flying backward and landed on their backs. They were not unconscious, but they didn't look like they were about to get back up again either. One made it as far as his hands and knees before collapsing again; the other simply rolled around feebly on the floor, clutching him arms to his chest in agony.  
  
He settled back into the stance that he usually used to begin his Shuku-chi, intending to rush as soon as one of them spoke or made a noise that he could pinpoint. He held his sword raised in front of his chest, crouching ever so slightly, just enough to give him some forward spring when he leapt into action. "Doushita?" (6) he asked.  
  
A slight whispering sound in the still air of the stable was all the warning he needed. His sword blurred, and there was a sharp metallic ring and a small blue-white spark. A shuriken chipped off the ground several feet to one side of Soujiro and skittered across the hard earth of the courtyard. Soujiro's eyes widened. That had been a pretty good toss; it might have clipped his shoulder had he not blocked it. He hadn't picked any of those people to be able to hit even a stationary target at that range. Oh well.  
  
On the other hand, the trajectory that the Chinese star had come from had to lead back to its thrower, if he reacted quickly. His mind worked quickly, thinking back to a move that Himura had used on him when they had battled. He had dodged it, but he doubted that whoever threw that would be able to.  
  
"Kuzu Ryu Sen!" he said as he bolted forward. The Kuzu Ryu Sen only struck with the hilt of the sword, but it was nonetheless an extremely painful blow. He had not practiced it much, though he had tried it on a few defenseless saplings in the valley several weeks ago. What he lacked in Himura's precision, however, he made up for in speed. Blurring into motion, he flew forward into the darkness, and was rewarded an instant later with the sharp feeling of impact on the hilt of his sword. It didn't hurt that he had misjudged the distance slightly, either; he had been aiming for a spot about a yard behind where he felt the impact, so his thrust carried right through the gangster. He rolled quickly to one side, in case any of them were quick to recover.  
  
There was a horrible crunching sound as a jagged, man-sized hole opened in the east wall of the stable. Soujiro got a memorable picture of the stocky silhouette of the leader flying through the moonlit air, ringed by a storm of splinters and wood chips. His sword flew from his grasp, and he landed in a crumpled heap.  
  
Up until then, the fight really hadn't been that loud. Even when Soujiro annouced his moves, he did not do it like other fighters; he did it almost conversationally. The leader had yelled once, and the time when the Yakuza men had been confused and striking each other had been ugly, but that was about it, and Soujiro was usually very good at striking silently. However, the noise thus far had been more than enough to awaken all the horses in the place. The detonating sound as the henchmen's leader crashed through the wall was more than enough to panic them. There suddenly began a tremendous cacophony of horses and men screaming, the men because the horses were, the horses because the men were. The remaining two Yakuza bolted for the convenient hole in the wall as the sounds of many running footsteps sounded in the courtyard of the Iron Dragon. Soujiro let them go. They meant nothing. They couldn't, or wouldn't, take the leader with them. He had three of them. He had a bigger problem now. A half-dozen trapped, panicked horses were much more dangerous than a pair of desperately running street thugs.  
  
Fortunately, some of the new arrivals were better with horses than he was, and a few of them had brought torches. Karachi was among them.  
  
"Soujiro!" he exclaimed over the din of the horses. "What the hell happened? Where is Sasaki?"  
  
"Horse thieves," Soujiro said aloud. Then, more quietly, in Karachi's ear, "Yakuza." The merchant's eyes grew wide with fear and surprise.  
  
"We won't wait until morning, then. We'll have to leave Ichibou tonight."  
  
Soujiro nodded. The man was probably right. "Does this mean that you're only going to pay me for one day?" he asked innocently.  
  
The merchant gave a start, and looked at Soujiro. He then looked back at the two Yakuza still stunned on the floor, and over Soujiro's shoulder at the unconscious leader lying on the ground outside. With a light laugh, he pressed two days' pay into Soujiro's palm. "Take it," he said lightly. "You've earned it. But if you want to keep working, I'm sure this isn't the last time I could use your help. Even if it is this noisy." He motioned at the whickering horses, which were almost under control again, thanks to the efforts of the innkeeper and several veteran stablehands.  
  
"Thank you, Karachi-san," Soujiro answered. "But I'm not really a merchant's guard."  
  
Karachi arched a quizzical eyebrow at him.  
  
"I'm a rurouni," Soujiro continued, the word coming to his lips even more easily now than it had before. "And right now there's someone who needs my help more than you do."  
  
Karachi shrugged. "OK, then, but if we ever meet again, I hope you've changed your mind. Being a rurouni doesn't pay well, or so I've heard."  
  
Soujiro smiled. "Right again, Karachi-san, but this is more important. I'll live, trust me. I can take care of myself."  
  
Karachi smiled back, one of the few times he had seen the man do so. "I believe you," he said. He then returned to his more businesslike tone. "Well, your room's been paid for the night, if you really feel like sleeping. And this should cover the food I promised you." He pressed another handful of change into Soujiro's hand. Soujiro eyed the money wonderingly. The man must not have eaten much more than the scallops Soujiro had seen him with earlier. Then again, they really had not been here that long. It wasn't even midnight yet; in fact, it was barely eleven, and they hadn't arrived until after six.  
  
"Good luck," the merchant said as he turned to the stablehands to order them to ready his wagon for departure.  
  
"Thanks," Soujiro said as he turned away as well. He didn't need to speak to stable hands, however. He needed to speak to a gangster.  
  
Soujiro stopped briefly to reclaim his second katana from underneath Karachi's wagon on his way out to where the Yakuza leader lay. The leather-armored man was just beginning to regain consciousness when Soujiro reached him. Only two other people had gone out to check on him, and both of them scurried away wordlessly when they saw Soujiro coming.  
  
Soujiro sat on the ground near the prostrate figure and waited for him to arouse himself enough to open his eyes. The first thing he saw when he did so was Soujiro sitting only a few feet from him, and his katana was on the far side of the former Tenken. He groaned and covered his head.  
  
"Who sent you?" Soujiro asked, sliding his katana an inch free of its sheath once again with his thumb.  
  
The leader only groaned and tried to growl some curses out at Soujiro, but all he managed was a string of horrible hissing sounds through clenched teeth.  
  
"Sumimasen?" Soujiro smiled, sliding the blade another inch free. "I didn't catch that."  
  
"Go ... fuck ... yoursAAAAAAH!" he growled, the last changing to a cry of pain as Soujiro popped the man in the jaw with his sheathed sword. Soujiro made sure that the didn't put that much force behind it; he didn't want to knock the man out again.  
  
"Manners, manners," Soujiro quipped lightly. Himura-san might have proved that killing was wrong, and if Soujiro had thought about the philosophy behind it, he might have thought that the same principle applied to torture. Unfortunately for the leader, Soujiro was not much of a philosopher. Besides, this was fun. "Now, who sent you?"  
  
The leader spit, then gasped in pain several times before managing weakly, "Yamashina. Yamashina Ito."  
  
Soujiro nodded, though the name meant nothing to him. "And where does Senkaku come in?"  
  
The man's eyes widened in shock at that. "Senkaku and Ito ... I don't know."  
  
"Oh, I think you know something."  
  
"They talk. That's all I know. I don't know who gives the orders." The man was gasping in pain, but it sounded like he was telling the truth. It was all the same, anyway, however they were linked.  
  
"One more thing. How does Young-eun-chan fit into all of this?"  
  
A wary and desperate look crept into the shorter man's eyes at the mention of that name. Eventually, however, a resigned look overtook that desperation, and a leaden dullness entered his voice. "Yamashina-sama and Senkaku-sama both have their eyes on her."  
  
Soujiro's eyes widened in shock, then narrowed with scorn. *Senkaku, you bastard,* he thought grimly to himself.  
  
He decided to avoid the topic of Senkaku and Young-eun at the moment. It was too much to think about, much less talk about. He turned back to the mystery man pulling the strings here. "Who is this Yamashina?" he asked.  
  
The man arched his eyebrows, forgetting the pain momentarily. "Didn't you see the sign above the foundry? Yamashina Ironworks?"  
  
Soujiro's eyes narrowed again. The man was hiding something. "There's more to it than that, though, isn't there?" he asked. "What else?"  
  
"The mines," the man rasped. "He owns the mines, too."  
  
Soujiro's mind raced. The men from the 'perimeter security' had called Senkaku the Lord of Ichibou or some such. It probably meant that he had forced his way into some kind of position of power here.  
  
"Senkaku runs the town," Soujiro thought aloud, "and Yamashina pays for it," he finished. The man glowered in sullen silence. Soujiro continued, "people that cross either one of them are sent to the mines ... Senkaku gets rid of enemies, and Yamashina gets free labor. The only problem is Young-eun." The man could no longer meet his eyes. Soujiro thought he might even be crying. Of course. By telling Soujiro about them, the man had probably sealed his own fate. Soujiro really didn't think he deserved to die, though.  
  
He looked up to see if the other two Yakuza henchmen that he had taken out were up yet. He couldn't even see them through the crowd in the stable, which probably meant they hadn't seen anything either. All the better. "When you wake up, I got frustrated because you weren't talking, and knocked you out again, OK? Thanks." Without waiting for another word, he brought both of his swords around, still in their sheaths, and cracked the man on each temple like a giant pair of blunt scissors coming together. The man collapsed like a wet rag.  
  
Soujiro stood up and sprinted away into the darkness, his legs blurring as he ran. He needed to a have a little chat with that mysterious Korean girl. He flew through the darkness of Ichibou as the clock wound down to midnight, wondering why he even bothered, why he felt like getting involved, and why he couldn't get the image of the little Korean teenager out of his mind.  
  
*****  
  
(1) Oh well  
(2) Good day, greetings (often misspelled/pronounced conichiwa or konnichiwa)  
(3) No (I think it's considered rude to disagree with someone using this, however)  
(4) Stupid; morons  
(5) Dark Fury  
(6) What's wrong?  
  
  
COMING SOON: Chapters 6 & 7, "A Blacksmith's House" and "The Iron Mines." Soujiro gets to meet Young-eun's adoptive family, and also acquires yet another sword. Shortly afterwards, however, her family is tragically torn apart, and Soujiro is left fighting terrible enemies and horrible memories.  
  
Thanks to everyone who read & reviewed either or both of the first two installments! I hope you've enjoyed reading this. I enjoyed writing this so much that I could barely step away from the keyboard; I hadn't planned on having it finished before Christmas. Happy holidays, everyone! Once again, thanks for all your thoughts about the previous chapters, and please let me know what you thought of this! 


	4. Chapters 6-8

DISCLAIMER: We both know I don't own Soujiro, ShiShiO, Kenshin, Senkaku, or any of the other characters that are making Watsuki Nobuhiro and his corporate sponsors/affiliates rich. If I did, people might be writing ME a library of thank-you-for-this-useless-Christmas-present letters instead of the other way around. I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. If not ... chikushou, aku baka!  
That reminds me ... my Japanese is next to nonexistent. Don't fault me for it. At least I'm trying.  
Happy reading!  
  
ANTI-DISCLAIMER (would that be just a "claimer?"): Some of these characters ARE my own creation, as well as many elements of the setting; the town of Ichibou, Kim Young-eun, Karachi Hoebu, Yamashina Ito, and several other minor characters are my own ideas. Use your head. If it never appeared in anywhere in the Kenshin series, then it's probably mine. Not that anyone cares but me.  
  
SPOILERS/BACKGROUND: To Kenshin TV ep 61, "Remaining Ju Pon Gattana, Choice of Life."  
  
*****  
  
  
CHAPTER 6:  
A BLACKSMITH'S HOUSE  
  
Soujiro was a dark wind whistling down the streets of Ichibou as midnight drew near. He was out of shouting distance of the Iron Dragon Inn within moments, and was halfway to South Street before anyone noticed that he was gone.  
  
South Street had never noticed his absence. The lights burned, the crowds milled about as though it were the central market at three in the afternoon, and people called to friends or potential customers with characteristic abandon. People barely even noticed his swords, as some called out in trying to secure his business and others, less sober, mistook him for a friend or relative. One person even thought he was a salesman he had met some time ago. Soujiro slowed to a brisk walk as he reached the street; somehow, someone running as he was capable of through a crowd with swords at his side didn't seem like a good idea.  
  
He had almost reached the door of the Red House once again when a frightened whinny broke through the din of the rest of the crowd. Shouting suddenly turned to frightened screaming as a riderless black stallion broke free of its handler, who had bumbled unhitching it from a hitching post less than a hundred feet away from Soujiro. The horse galloped off across Soujiro's path, and people scattered in every direction trying to avoid being trampled by the animal.  
  
With an exasperated sigh, Soujiro loosened his older katana in its sheath. He didn't really want to hurt, much less kill, the animal, but it was better than letting it trample someone that didn't deserve to be hurt. On some level, he still really didn't care if civilians were hurt or not ... but any civilian casualties would draw much more attention than a simple frantic horse that was brought back under control before anyone got hurt. Attention was something he definitely did not want right now. And on some level, he really didn't want anyone to get hurt just because some clumsy horse handler had mishandled a horse.  
  
He kept looking for a good chance to strike, but the milling crowd never really gave him one, as many of them were fleeing in his direction. Eventually, he struggled free and got a clear run at the horse, just as it reared up on its hind legs. Soujiro gasped and sprang into motion.  
  
Bolting forward faster than any cobra that ever lived, Soujiro closed one arm around the waist of the frightened man who had fallen and landed badly as he tried to jump out of the horse's way. The stallion's hooves came down where he had been lying a moment later, thudding loudly on the hardpacked ground. The man landed a few paces away; Soujiro had not had time to be gentle as he grabbed the man. Soujiro himself slid several yards across the street, his sandals throwing up small spirals of dirt and dust around his knees. He turned quickly, more set than ever on ending this before it got out of hand.  
  
Now, however, he was trying to catch up with it from the rear. He could catch it instantly if he wanted to, of course, but that would give away far too much with far too many people watching in the full light of South Street. So he opted instead for a lesser super speed, still faster than a galloping stallion, and cut the stallion's rear legs out from under it before it managed more than a few more strides, using a crushing slide attack. He left two long tracks that looked almost like carriage skid marks behind as he slid, driving himself forward and taking out the stallion from the side. The horse fell with a whinny of pain and fright.  
  
Soujiro quickly circled around in front of it, and looked it dead in the eyes. "Now behave, OK?" he said as he faced the animal as it struggled to regain its feet.  
  
As if to punctuate the remark, a loud, harsh gong sounded in the foundry only a short walk to the west. Soujiro thought he heard another one or two similar gongs sounding simultaneously further northeast in the town.  
  
The crowd began to scatter and melt away like shadows at sunrise. Even people who had been avidly watching him try to stop the raging stallion only moments earlier suddenly turned and vanished to the north. Many carried torches with them; it was a light a small river of lights streaming forth from a dam that had just burst on South Street. Even the horse seemed to become shy and hesitant. Soujiro gave the animal a confused look.  
  
"I don't suppose you can tell me what that means, can you?" he asked the long equine face. The horse just shook his head at him.  
  
As if in answer to his question, town watchmen began to push through the crowd, shouting remarks along the lines of "Closing time! Out you go! Party's finished! Sorry, you gotta go now!" Soujiro decided it was better to get out of sight before one of them saw his swords and took them as a challenge.  
  
He dashed into the closest cover he could find, an alley on the south side of South Street that ended back against the town wall. It was still three or four buildings away from the Red House. Soujiro thought for a moment that he would just wait out the dispersion of the crowd and come out again when everyone had left, but that thought only lasted a moment. The workers were going home, too, he realized, not just the partygoers. He saw girls in waitress outfits leaving the two restaurants that he could see across the street and vanishing into the rest of the departing crowd. His eyes narrowed. If Young-eun vanished into the crowd and into the darkness like that, there would be no way for him to find her before tomorrow evening, at least not on his own. She had even said something about not being a waitress all the time, so she might not even be back then.  
  
Making a quick check to be sure that no one was actively watching him, he blurred into action, dashing up the rough stone face of the inside of the town wall. When he reached the level of the roof of the building that he had been standing next to, he sprang backwards into a backwards somersault and landed lightly on the back corner of the roof. Without hesitating, he dashed off along the rear of that roof, running halfway crouched over in the manner that the samurai often ran through the woods. He wasn't concerned about low branches, but he did worry that someone might see him over the barely-pointed roof of the building, even though he did stay at the back of it.  
  
He reached the next building with an effortless leap, and the one after that. His legs were as powerful as anyone's, even some people twice his weight, and the buildings were not very close together. He had managed harder jumps in tighter situations without even considering that he might fall. The last building took a little more effort, because it was two stories and the first two had been only one each, but even with the extra difficulty, he landed lightly on the roof of the taller building without even having to catch himself with his hands. He dashed across the roof and looked down into the alley next to the Red House. He jumped back. It was a good thing that he had not jumped down without looking because someone was there. One of them looked like the man whom Young-eun had been talking to while standing in the kitchen door earlier in the evening. The other was a stranger, but there was clearly a katana belted at his waist.  
  
"Shimazu," the stranger addressed the man whom Soujiro had seen before, "I don't think our employer will wait much longer for these games of yours. He is thinking more ... direct ... action may be called for."  
  
"I see," Shimazu replied. "I take it she declined my offer, then?"  
  
"She saw right through it," the stranger replied, "and wanted nothing to do with it."  
  
"Good luck," Shimazu answered mirthlessly.  
  
"She's still living in Ichibou, obviously," the stranger agreed. "Eventually, she'll cave."  
  
"And you intend to hurry her up a little?"  
  
"Like I said, our employer is getting a little ... impatient. With you, as well as with her, I might add."  
  
"Genji, I would think twice before trying anything too drastic. You haven't spent much time around her. I have. She's not your ordinary waitress."  
  
"Obviously not, with the attention she's getting."  
  
"I'm not talking about her looks!"  
  
"What is she? A demoness in disguise?" Genji joked.  
  
"Not that bad, I suppose," Shimazu replied. "But there's something ... cold .. about her." The man was plainly having trouble explaining, but Soujiro knew exactly what he was talking about. He had sensed the same thing about the only waitress they could be talking about earlier that evening.  
  
"Maybe our employer likes them that way," Genji replied coldly. "He's not the most warmhearted person himself."  
  
"True, true," Shimazu replied.  
  
"Remember, none of this would be your business if she didn't work for you. Which she won't for much longer. So keep that in mind."  
  
"If I need to, I can find another waitress, if that's what you mean."  
  
"Possibly. I have to go now," Genji said suddenly. "I have other work to do, and I think something might have happened in another part of town that needs my attention."  
  
"Wait!" Shimazu called. "You didn't tell me what you need me to do yet!" But Soujiro could sense that the other man was still moving, off into the side door of the Red House.  
  
"Just be ready by ..." and they had disappeared back into the building. Soujiro needed no more opportunity than that. He landed softly in the alley, his feet barely disturbing the loose layer of dirt. Seeing that a window into the common room was open near the front of the alley, he slipped up to it and looked in.  
  
Young-eun was indeed in the common room, a common room now completely empty except for her. The other two were somewhere else in the establishment, probably in the back where the side door led to, and the fire had dwindled to embers. The little Korean girl was cleaning the tables, moving from table to table effortlessly, almost like a dance with a score of immobile partners. Soujiro was more than impressed with her agility, especially hampered by a waitress' dress. Most women would not be so agile in a Ninja outfit. Every so often, she paused to throw a chopstick into a small tub of water that she had set on a table in the center of the dining area. No matter where she threw it from or from what angle, she never missed. Behind her back, over her shoulder, bouncing off the ceiling, every throw was rewarded with a faint splash.  
  
Suddenly, she paused once, just as she was about to throw one, and instead continued gathering the others that had been left on the table into her hand. Soujiro only wondered about this for a moment before Shimazu walked into the room from the kitchen. Soujiro's eyes widened. She must have known somehow that the man was approaching; he guessed she must have heard him, since she was much closer to the kitchen door than Soujiro, but Soujiro's hearing was better than most. He didn't think that the apparent owner of the Red House had made that much noise coming through the kitchen.  
  
"Almost finished, Mr. Shimazu," Young-eun said politely as the man came forward. Soujiro had begun to become used to her accent, but her voice still had a very foreign sound to his ears. It was not unpleasant, only different, and even then, not much so. Her Japanese was certainly better than some of the Japanese people he had met on his travels.  
  
"Good, good," the owner replied, "but you don't need to hang around here any longer. The gong rang a while ago now. Why don't you take off? I'll take care of the rest. I don't think I'll be sleeping much for a while anyway."  
  
Young-eun gave her employer a stare that said, 'Huh?' as loud as any words, but after a moment, she shrugged and said, "Well, thank you then. See you tomorrow." The words were familiar, but there was really no familiarity in her voice that Soujiro could detect. They were not really friends. He was her employer, after all.  
  
"Yes, tomorrow," Shimazu replied wearily as he watched Young-eun head for the door.   
  
Soujiro waited only a moment to see if he was going to follow her at all; then, seeing that he wasn't, took off to catch up with the enigmatic Korean girl. He came out of the alley beside the Red House just in time to see her disappearing into the darkness of the street on the far side of South Street. He noticed that she was headed more northwest; almost everyone else in the town lived to the northeast. After all, that was where most of the rest of the town was.  
  
Soujiro had to wait until the three guards left on the otherwise vacant street all had their backs turned, and then blurred across the street and into the darkness. He could still see Young-eun's silhouette faintly in the dim moonlight. The moon was less than a quarter full, but the night was clear and the stars were spangled across the midnight sky. The breeze from the north had picked up slightly as well, stirring up and carrying away much of the stagnant air of Ichibou.  
  
Young-eun turned around as Soujiro drew closer to her. "Soujiro?" she called softly, "is that you?"  
  
"Hai," he responded. He didn't see the need for such silence, but he did lower his voice a little.  
  
"Did you want to talk to me?" she asked.  
  
"Anou ... a little," Soujiro responded. Once again, he was growing uncomfortable around her. He had never been able to understand women very well.  
  
Sensing his hesitation, she continued, "Do you want to walk with me for a while?"  
  
Surprisingly, that eased a little of the tension out of Soujiro's throat. "Sure," he said, a little more easily. "Why not?"  
  
They started off again, heading generally north and slightly to the west. Young-eun began the conversation. She seemed surprisingly willing to talk, though it was clear that she didn't know where to begin.  
  
"Did anything bad happen at your inn?" she asked. She actually did sound at least slightly concerned.  
  
"Nothing I couldn't handle," Soujiro responded without thinking. There was no bragging behind it, and Young-eun did not take it as such. It was a simple statement.  
  
"That's good, I suppose," Young-eun responded hesitantly.  
  
"You suppose?" Soujiro was not really annoyed at all. It just sounded like she somehow wanted to say more.  
  
"I mean, I really didn't want anything to happen to you. It's just that I'll probably get in trouble for it."  
  
"Why? Because you didn't tell them enough about me?" Soujiro asked. Once again, he really wasn't annoyed. He really didn't care what she had told them, since he hadn't really told her anything.  
  
"Maybe. Maybe just because I talked to you."  
  
"Hmm?"  
  
"There are people here who don't like it if I talk to strangers. I think they're worried that I'll hear too much of the outside world and want to leave."  
  
"You've never been outside Ichibou? But I thought you're from another country."  
  
She laughed then, shyly, but it was nonetheless a laugh. "A long time ago, Soujiro-kun, a long time ago. I was about this high." She held her hand just above her waist. Then she sighed. "Sometimes I wish I could be that young again." Her smile was gone.  
  
Soujiro actually missed a step, so obviously that Young-eun put out an unsteady hand as if she would try to catch him if he fell. He gave her the strangest look he had ever given anyone in his life. Why in all of earth, heaven, or hell would someone wish that? Scattered, suppressed memories of his own childhood flared for a minute, and he shuddered. Then it was gone, an he was himself again.  
  
"I have been out of town occasionally," she continued, "but only to the estate in the hills to the east. The owner of the iron mines has a little palace up there."  
  
Soujiro nodded. "I know about Yamashina."  
  
Young-eun nodded resignedly. "I doubt you know everything, though."  
  
"People tell me that a lot."  
  
"No, no! I just meant that ... never mind. It's too hard to explain."  
  
"Then don't," Soujiro said lightly. "I probably wouldn't understand it anyway."  
  
Young-eun smiled again, though she did not laugh. Her smile was beautiful, though. Soujiro wished she would smile more often. Actually, when he thought back, she had smiled most of the time in the Red House, as well, but it was not like this. Even in the darkness, this smile lit up her face. He wished she would do that more often.  
  
"I think you underestimate yourself, Soujiro-kun."  
  
Soujiro shrugged. "Maybe." He wished she was right, but he didn't feel like disagreeing with her.  
  
Young-eun continued, "I guess you know about Senkaku, too?"  
  
Soujiro nodded. "Yup. Actually, I knew him before he came to Ichibou."  
  
Young-eun arched an eyebrow at him. "Really? Then again, I guess he really hasn't been in Ichibou that long. It just seems that way."  
  
"He isn't a very nice person, I guess," Soujiro admitted. It was somewhat discomforting to admit that aloud. He knew it was true, but he also remembered Senkaku fearing for his life when Soujiro was in sight. Had he really been that bad?  
  
"That's an understatement," Young-eun agreed.  
  
*Thanks, I needed that,* Soujiro thought to himself. Aloud, he said, "He used to rule Shingetsu by brute force. It's a village a few valleys off."  
  
"Why did he leave, then?"  
  
Soujiro shrugged. "He fell into disfavor with Shishio-san after he lost to the Battousai. He vanished from the area."  
  
Young-eun suddenly stopped, and turned a long eye on him.  
  
"Something wrong?" Soujiro asked uncertainly.  
  
"Well, this is my house," Young-eun said, motioning to a surprisingly spacious, if somewhat unkempt, dwelling behind her. "My dad's a blacksmith, and it's also his workshop, so don't think I've got all this space or anything."  
  
"Hmm? ... Oh!" Soujiro said. "Well, I'm glad I got to talk to you for a little while."  
  
"If you wanted to come in, we could talk for a little longer, I suppose," the Korean teenager replied. Her tone was dry; Soujiro could not tell how she felt about it one way or another.  
  
"S ... sure ... I guess," he began.  
  
"One condition!" Young-eun interrupted, holding up a finger. "Actually, just one question, and I want the truth."  
  
"Hmm?"  
  
"Who are you? No, forget that. Who were you?"  
  
"Sumimasen?!" Soujiro said, an edge coming into his voice as he backed away a step uncertainly.  
  
"You heard me," Young-eun replied flatly.  
  
"Why do you want to know?" Soujiro asked, recovering his wits a little.  
  
"You say you knew Senkaku before he came to Ichibou. You talk about the Hitokiri Battousai, practically a tall tale, like you've met him. And you're sober. And just now you called Shishio Makoto, the only man who conquered this village in living memory, 'Shishio-san.' I'd swear you were drunk, but then you'd have told me something more exciting. And even then you wouldn't have said 'Shishio-san.'"  
  
She had him in a corner, but there was a very obvious way out. He really didn't want to lie to her anyway, and she looked sturdy enough to handle the truth. He took a careful look up and down the street to make sure no one else was watching or listening, then leaned in closer to Young-eun's face anyway. "I was Shishio's assistant. He was my mentor."  
  
"You mean you were a samurai?"  
  
"No. An assassin." That conversation he had had with Yumi about the negative connotations attached to that word floated up in his mind again, but the word was already out of his mouth. Young-eun's only reaction, however, was a soundless "Oh."  
  
"Do you not want me to come in, now?" Soujiro asked deferentially. He wished he could say he didn't care if that had made her decision one way or the other, but he really hoped that she didn't think less of him just because he used to kill people on a daily basis.  
  
"No! I mean yes. I mean ... oh, just come on in," she said at last. "You're more honest than most of the visitors we have coming to call, anyway. At least you admit it."  
  
"I'm not that assassin anymore."  
  
"I know you're not. Shishio's dead."  
  
The coldness in her voice suddenly coalesced when she said that, and he realized who it was that she had been reminding him of all this time. It was himself, of course. She had more emotion than he had had at her age, perhaps, but only barely. Like himself, she had had a badly troubled childhood and had suppressed almost all of her emotions; perhaps not as bad as his had been--she at least sounded like she wouldn't mind seeing, after all--but bad enough. Like himself, she hid behind a veil of neutrality, even of happiness, but it was definitely a veil. He could see that now. Everything fit ... her voice, her face, her attitude, the questions she asked, even the cold precision and the ability to sense auras of emotions in others. Like so many things, they were so much easier to see when you lacked them yourself. A surge of empathy welled up in him unexpectedly. It was not sympathy; he had not felt that emotion for as long as he could remember, even in his most deeply buried memories. It was empathy, a feeling of thinking on the same wavelength, that he had not even always shared with Shishio.  
  
Without warning, he smiled at her, a genuine smile, not the cold one eternally engraved on his face. "I think I'd like to talk a little longer," he said. "I think that'd be great."  
  
She merely nodded. "Come on in then."  
  
Soujiro followed the Korean girl through the screen door. Young-eun's house was indeed not as spacious as it looked from the outside; actually, the workshop was simply bigger than it looked from the outside, making the living space that much smaller. It was ample enough, however, and the place was much better kept on the inside than the outside. Everything was orderly and organized. The table in he center of the room was clean, the items on all the shelves were in perfect rows, and the wooden floor was polished and spotless, except around the doorway where it really couldn't be helped. Soujiro nodded approvingly.  
  
Young-eun had darted immediately across the sitting room and into what appeared to be a bedroom. "Father!" she heard her call. "Father, there's someone I want you to meet." Once again, that instinctive disbelief crept up on Soujiro. He was certain that he had never said that in his life.  
  
Young-eun's adoptive father came out of the bedroom. He was only an inch or two taller than Soujiro, but he had to be at least eighty pounds heavier. His arms were forged of solid iron, but he moved fairly easily, especially for a man of his apparent age. He had to be almost forty, if he wasn't already, but he moved like he was thirty, or younger. His hair was a little unkempt, and he was still clearing the sleep from his eyes, but his smile was friendly and his stance was unthreatening.  
  
"Seta Soujiro," Young-eun announced, "this is my father, Ukita Shimiro. Ukita-san, this is Seta Soujiro." Soujiro noticed that while she called the man her father, she addressed him more as a friend. Still, that was more than he ever would have addressed his adoptive father as, so he really didn't think it was worth mentioning.  
  
"Soujiro?" the man's eyes widened for a moment. The man shook himself, then recovered. "Se ... Someone I know mentioned a Soujiro to me some time ago," he finished lamely. "But you don't seem the type, Seta-kun."  
  
"He is." Young-eun's voice was completely dry. Yes, he's an assassin. Who cares?  
  
"Oh really?" Ukita's eyes turned towards her. "I don't think you were here when this man and I had this conversation, how would you know?" His tone was only mildly annoyed, though.  
  
"He told me." She nodded towards him. "It doesn't matter, does it?"  
  
"Well, it could, you know."  
  
"You never let that stop you before."  
  
"Before? I don't think you've ever had a guest over here since you were eleven."  
  
"Well then, it's about time, isn't it?"  
  
"I don't think that's the way these things are supposed to work," he began in a typical fatherly tone, but then he caught the look in Young-eun's eyes, and relented. "Then again, I guess this whole thing hasn't worked the way things are supposed to, has it? Oh well, one more can't hurt."  
  
Soujiro had not said anything this whole time, but spoke up now that he was clear that the blacksmith was a little uncomfortable by his presence. "If you want me to leave, I will, it's not a problem," Soujiro offered.  
  
Ukita actually laughed. "Oh, come now, boy, I'm not about to turn you out into the streets after midnight. I've had worse than you come through that door, believe me. I'm just a suspicious person."  
  
Soujiro took a wild guess. "Most of the samurai that survived the Bakumatsu are."  
  
Ukita chuckled. "You've got a keen eye, boy. You're right, though. I was one of the Ishin Shinshi, a long time ago. I managed to come out of the Bakumatsu with nothing but a pair of little scars, but then again, I never saw the worst of the fighting. Not that what I saw wasn't bad enough or anything."  
  
Soujiro shrugged. "I was trained to be able to recognize fighters out of a crowd."  
  
The man laughed again. "It's been a while since I picked up my sword. After the Bakumatsu, I realized that I had the hands of a samurai, but not the stomach."  
  
Soujiro was a little confused by that. What did a man's stomach have to do with wielding a sword? That must be some hidden technique. Only, he was convinced that the ex-Ishin meant something else.  
  
The blacksmith sighed wistfully and continued, "can I get you anything? I'm afraid we don't have much here, I wasn't expecting company."  
  
"Just a water?" Soujiro asked.  
  
The man smiled. "That I can do." He walked off into the bedroom again.  
  
Young-eun offered him a place at the table, which he took gratefully. He had not sat down in a long while. He made sure that he offered her a place, first; it was not that she needed him to offer her a place at her own table, of course, but he had never sat down before a woman in his life. Of course, the only woman he could remember eating dinner with was Yumi, but she had always liked it when Soujiro held her chair for her. Young-eun certainly didn't seem to mind, either. Soujiro drew up his own chair after Young-eun sat down.  
  
"He likes you," Young-eun said immediately. "He really does. But his nerves are shot. The last few months have been horrible for him, too."  
  
"I thought you were the center of all the attention."  
  
"I am," Young-eun said, once again in that carefully neutral tone of voice that Soujiro guessed hid her deeper emotions, the ones she couldn't handle. "But he constantly puts himself in between them and me. He's the only reason I wasn't taken away months ago. He can't fight them off forever, but his samurai spirit won't let him back down. It's ... breaking him." Soujiro nodded; he understood, at least on some level.  
  
"So Senkaku and Yamashina are afraid of him?" Soujiro asked. If they were, the man's sword and skill couldn't be that rusty.  
  
"No. Well, Senkaku might be, but not Yamashina. Yamashina still holds off out of respect, I think. Barely."  
  
"Respect? I thought he was a mob boss."  
  
Young-eun replied immediately, "I was right. You don't know everything." Soujiro wrinkled his nose at her. The Korean girl sighed and continued. "Yamashina was an Ishin Shinshi as well. One of their best, a Hitokiri. He doesn't want to move against the wishes of another member, but he will, sooner or later. He's the coldest man I've ever met, but ambition still burns in his belly, and during the Bakumatsu, he would've outranked Ukita." Soujiro cocked an eye at her. If this Yamashina was enough to make her characterize him as 'cold,' then he had to be a breathing block of ice. He was going to ask her more about it, but at that moment, Ukita came back into the room, carrying a few tin cups and a small keg of water.  
  
"Young-eun," he said immediately, "why don't you go clean yourself up and change out of that waitress' outfit? Or I might be tempted to make you do the pouring and watch while we drink." Young-eun made a face at him, but quickly got up and headed through another door out of the room.  
  
Ukita plunked the keg down on the side of the table and opened the tap; it had been a wine cask long ago, Soujiro realized, it was just being reused to hold water.  
  
"I heard that last part," the blacksmith said as he handed Soujiro the first cup and opened the tap for a second. "About Yamashina being cold and all. She's right, you know. If you're thinking about getting involved with this, I suggest getting out of town first. This isn't your fight."  
  
Soujiro's expression was thoughtful. "I think I'm probably already involved with this," he sighed regretfully. "And it may be my fight after all."  
  
Soujiro proceeded to tell Ukita about the incident at the inn, starting with the meeting between Shimazu and the group's leader outside the Red House. He downplayed a lot of the moves he had used, just saying that he had fought the group of them off. He said honestly that he hadn't killed any of them, and let the former Ishin make of that what he would. He ended by saying that he had guessed that Young-eun was involved somehow, and so he had took off for the Red House again after the incident.  
  
"And I really don't want anything to happen to her," he finished.  
  
The blacksmith smiled. "You like her."  
  
"Hmm? Don't you?"  
  
The blacksmith's smile only brightened, but he shook his head. "Never mind." Soujiro was a little puzzled. He had a definite feeling that he was missing something there. He didn't want to think about it now, though. Too much thinking always put him in a bad mood.  
  
"So why don't you just pack up and leave?" Soujiro asked. "If you can't fight them, you might at least be able to get away from them." It was uncomfortable to even suggest running from a fight, but even he had known the virtue of caution on occasion.  
  
The blacksmith's laugh held no more mirth. "I'd like to, but I wouldn't make it a league in any direction without getting picked up or gunned down. As long as I stick around, Yamashina will play my game."  
  
"I think he may be growing a little tired of games," Soujiro warned. He told the former samurai about the conversation he had overheard between Shimazu and Genji. When he had finished, the other man's face was clearly troubled.  
  
"I guess the game is about played out then," he conceded sadly. "Maybe I'm going to have to take some larger risks soon."  
  
"Don't do anything foolish," Soujiro cautioned. "Young-eun wouldn't like it if you got yourself killed."  
  
"That's what I'm afraid of," the man said grimly. "She's somewhat cold around me; I haven't been much of a father to her, and my wife died less than two years after we took her in. The last few months, I've even been trying to push her away."  
  
Soujiro gave the man a questioning look, and he continued. "Sooner or later, Yamashina is going to go threaten her with me. As long as he continues to threaten me, everything is fine. She's protected. But I can't be with her all the time, and eventually, Yamashina will approach her directly. I don't want her doing anything she doesn't want to for my sake."  
  
Soujiro touched his head in an informal salute. "Once a samurai, always a samurai," he said. Shishio's words came back to him again. The man had blown those words all out of proportion, but they still held. *Those who live the life of a Hitokiri, die the death of a Hitokiri.* He continued, "you may have put down your sword and taken up a hammer, but you'll never think like a blacksmith."  
  
Ukita nodded wryly. "Even when I'm smithing, all I make is swords unless I have a specific order for something else." He stood up, and walked to a small upright cabinet built into a wall in the corner of the room. He threw the doors open, and Soujiro's eyes widened. The man had a very impressive collection of blades, ranging from short Kodachi to longer Chotou. A peg on the inside of the door supported a leather chest strap with what looked to be at least twenty shuriken slipped into individual pockets within it. Ukita turned to face Soujiro again. "The blades keep getting better, but I'm afraid the hands that wield them don't get younger."  
  
"You're not that old yet," Soujiro told him. It wasn't even really meant to be a compliment, or trying to get on his good side. It was just a fact.  
  
Ukita grinned. "Maybe so, but I don't have that long left. I'd rather not make any new enemies now, when they might be able to wait a few years and take advantage of a slow old man. Old enemies are bad enough."  
  
At this point, Young-eun reentered the room, and Ukita quickly shut his weapons closet. "Well, you certainly clean up well tonight," the blacksmith smiled approvingly.  
  
Soujiro gaped. The man was not kidding. The little Korean girl wore a slim and comfortable kimono of sheer cotton, so thin that Soujiro could see through to the opaque down lining on the inside. The robe was of a pale sky blue, almost identical to Soujiro's own ensemble, only perhaps even a little lighter in color, though the hems at the sleeves and across the chest were covered with soft white fur. A string of baroque pearls accented her neck. A slim, silvery circlet held her hair away from her face, but behind her it tumbled loosely to the small of her back. A few errant waves tumbled idly in front of her shoulders, and a few locks had slipped free of the circlet in the front, framing her face in midnight. Her sandals were lower than the ones she had worn to work; these were soft brown leather, flexible but sturdy. The did make her seem an inch or two shorter than she had been earlier, however.  
  
She glided forward into the room. "Showing off your craftsmanship?" she asked the blacksmith.  
  
"Don't even talk to me about showing off," he growled, but there was clearly affection behind the gruff words. Young-eun suddenly grinned, bowed her head slightly, and ran an almost guilty hand through her hair. Soujiro had the sudden feeling that he was the butt of an inside joke, but he couldn't quite grasp it.  
  
"Anyway," she continued, "can I steal him from you for a little while? I think he wanted to talk to me for a little while, anyway."  
  
Ukita shrugged. "He's your guest. Just don't make a mess." Once again, the way he said it sounded very pointed, like he meant something more than knocking over something in the bedroom. Soujiro wished Yumi were here. She would know what they were talking about, he was sure. It was just all well beyond him. And Young-eun was telling the truth; he did still want to talk to her for a while.  
  
"We won't," Young-eun replied deferentially. "Come on, Soujiro-kun. There's something I want to show you." With that, she turned and strode back into the bedroom. Soujiro followed her hesitantly, casting a somewhat apologetic look at Ukita as he did so, but the man's face was indecipherable.  
  
He turned back just to see Young-eun's foot vanishing out through the ceiling of her bedroom. There was a hatch in the ceiling that apparently led out onto the roof. There were no stairs or ladder up to the opening, however; she had simply jumped from her bed and vaulted out onto the roof. Soujiro was not incredibly surprised to see it, though; she was in good shape, after all. He walked over to the opening, stepped up on the rim of Young-eun's bed, and sprang up onto the roof.  
  
  
*****  
  
  
CHAPTER 7:  
THE SPIRIT OF THE NORTH WIND  
  
The night breeze was a sudden shock against his skin, but it was not all that cold. He had just been used to being in the house, and the blacksmith had kept the fire stoked. Young-eun was sitting a few feet away on the roof, her knees bent in front of her and her arms wrapped around them. She didn't appear to be huddling, though. Her head was tilted back, her eyes gazing out above the tops of the mountains to the north. The north wind blew her hair out behind her face, rippling in the breeze behind her. The silver circlet in her hair and the pearls at her neck gleamed faintly in the darkness, capturing the faint light of the stars. The breeze rippled the edges of her kimono. The brisk air from the north and the dim glow of the heavenly bodies of the night gave her the appearance of more than mortality. She was a spirit of the winds that had taken form and alighted on the roof, not a girl who had just jumped out of a hatch onto her roof to look at the night sky. Soujiro's eyes widened appreciatively. Not even Yumi had ever had such an unknown but yet compelling presence.  
  
It was a moment before he could make himself go over and sit by her. It was also not until he did so that he realized that the circlet and the pearls were not the only things that were glistening. Her eyes were glistening wetly as well. Soujiro's eyes widened further. A minute earlier, she had been smiling and joking with her father. Now she looked like she was almost about to break down crying. Memories of his fight with Himura forced themselves back into his awareness. Banging his head on the floor, holding it in both hands. Screaming and clawing on the ground. He honestly hoped she wasn't about to put on a scene like that. He didn't know how he would handle it. Himura-san had handled it by knocking Soujiro out with his most powerful technique. Soujiro thought it might be somewhat rude to try that on her.  
  
As soon as he sat down by her, however, she smiled again, and the tears faded, though they did not vanish. Without looking at him, she asked, "They're beautiful, aren't they?"  
  
"Hmm?" Soujiro asked quietly. He didn't know why, but something told him that this was not a time for normal volume.  
  
Young-eun eased herself down onto her back before answering, and patted the roof beside herself to indicate that it was fine with her if Soujiro did the same. After a moment's hesitation, he did so. He was feeling very awkward; he had been through a lot together, and he had been alone with a woman on any number of occasions--even if it had never been anyone but Yumi--but this was somehow very new to him.  
  
"The stars," the little Korean girl answered dreamily once Soujiro was settled down next to her. Soujiro looked at them again. He had never really bothered to look at them before. Some people claimed that they could read the future in them, but Yumi and Shishio had always told him that such people were more foolish than even the government that they had both hated. Soujiro had never seen the future in them, but he had never really seen beauty in them. Aesthetics and artistry were not his strong points.  
  
"I guess," Soujiro answered passively.  
  
"They're free," Young-eun went on. "They can be beautiful and free and never grow old, and no one can touch them." Soujiro stole a glance at her, and then back up at the cloudless night sky. He suddenly did see what she was talking about, at least in part. It did not move him the way it obviously moved her, but at least he could understand it a little.  
  
"Is that why you come up here?" Soujiro asked, his mind working as fast as it ever had. "To feel free?"  
  
Young-eun laughed then, but it was not in mockery. It was an absolutely musical sound in the darkness, and the smile was plain on her face even in the dim light. "They say nothing evades the eye of a Hitokiri," she mouthed in agreement. "You're a lot smarter than you look, Soujiro-kun."  
  
Soujiro was about to disagree, but found that he couldn't even make himself voice the words to disagree with her in the slightest in this place. He felt it would be rude somehow. On the other hand, she had somehow got him thinking in ways in which he had never thought before, and for the first time, she was evoking memories that had always been painful to him ... and he didn't feel the pain. At least, not as much. "I don't think you'd really want to be a star, though," he said at last.  
  
"Really?" she asked. She didn't seem to be offended at all that he had disagreed with her, and Soujiro believed that it was genuine. For some reason, she seemed to let her guard down here. He found that he liked the effect. "Why not?"  
  
"I don't know. I think I tried to be one once." There was absolutely no sarcasm in his voice, but Young-eun gave him a sidelong look without raising her head from the cusp of her hands behind her.  
  
"You tried to be a star?" she asked.  
  
"Do you really think the stars are so free and untouchable?" he asked her.  
  
"Do you know anything that can touch them?" she countered.  
  
"No," Soujiro answered, "but they still can't move. And they're cold. I mean they don't care about anything, they can't feel anything. And they have no way out of the darkness unless they fall all the way to earth. Until then, they're just frozen in the dark. I think I was like that." He shook his head to clear the philosophy from his brain. "But you're right," he finished a moment later. "They are beautiful." He couldn't help thinking to himself, *if Yumi-san were here, she'd have my head examined.*  
  
"I never thought about them that way," Young-eun admitted. She still did not look at him, though. Soujiro stopped berating himself for rambling. Then she continued, "but sometimes I think I'd rather be one anyway. Sometimes I think not feeling anything would be good."  
  
"Maybe," Soujiro responded. "But things don't usually work that easily."  
  
"I know that," she sighed regretfully. "But that's during the other twenty-three hours of the day. This is where I come just to dream."  
  
"You dream?" Soujiro asked.  
  
"Of course," Young-eun answered, as if it were obvious. "Doesn't everyone?"  
  
Soujiro shook his head sadly. "Not everyone," he answered. "I stopped dreaming a long time ago. It was never much fun for me." To himself, he thought, *stars can't dream,* but that line of conversation was finished. He had spouted more than enough philosophical dribble for one night; he had no idea what had come over him.  
  
It was Young-eun's turn to be surprised. Then she shuddered. "How can you stand it?"  
  
Soujiro didn't move, but the question made him very uncomfortable. He really didn't know. That was one of the answers he was looking for, he supposed. He had no idea what to say. So he just kept looking at the stars and admitted, "I don't know."  
  
"Is that why you became an assassin?" Young-eun asked. Even now, when she seemed to let her guard down, her voice did not falter over the word.  
  
"Maybe," Soujiro said. "I guess it all started in self-defense. Then I went away with Shishio-san. With him as a teacher, I never learned that there was anything wrong with it."  
  
"Self-defense?" she asked. "Defense against who?"  
  
The words were out of his mouth before he could think about them; he wasn't about to lie to her here, anyway. Without hesitating, he answered, "My parents."  
  
Young-eun gave a frightened gasp and sat bolt upright. Startled, Soujiro did the same, only slower. Young-eun turned her eyes on him, but there was no fear in them. He couldn't see anything in them, but the tears that had never completely gone away were back now. She still had the look of a wind spirit, but the wind was weeping. Soujiro wished he had thought about what he was saying before he spoke. He could have thought of something softer. He could have just said a corrupt rice merchant, or something like that.  
  
Suddenly, the little Korean girl huddled herself up, bringing her forehead to her knees and wrapping her arms around them. She could no longer hold back the tears in her eyes. Soujiro was stunned. He had not expected this kind of reaction from her at all. Yumi-san was right. He knew nothing about women. Young-eun looked up at him then. Even after crying, her eyes were beautiful, Soujiro decided. Like stars.  
  
"My God," she rasped. "How do you stand it?"  
  
Soujiro bowed his head sadly. He had made her uncomfortable, which he had never wanted to do, and she deserved a better answer than he could give. He did the best he could. "I don't know," he said again. "At first I tried to be strong. That didn't work. So now I'm looking for new answers."  
  
"You say you're not strong?" Young-eun asked. "You're a Hitokiri."  
  
Soujiro smiled sadly, and met her gaze again. "I thought I was strong," he answered her. "I thought I was stronger than just about anyone. But I wasn't. I was just hard. Strong things don't break. Hard things do."  
  
"And you were broken?" Young-eun asked. Soujiro nodded, though it was plaing that Young-eun already knew the answer.  
  
"Soujiro?" she said again, a new light coming into her eyes.  
  
"Hmm?"  
  
"Do you think I'm strong?"  
  
Soujiro had been trying to decide that for himself for a long time now. He looked into her eyes for a long moment, looked up and down her body, but no answers came to him.  
  
"I don't know," he answered at last. She nodded, as if she had been thinking the same answer herself. There was an uncomfortable silence, and Young-eun looked away into the face of the north wind again. Her eyes were almost dry again, though.  
  
"Young-eun-chan?" he asked suddenly, "Do you like the wind?"  
  
She nodded, and the beginnings of her smile cracked the corners of her mouth again. "I always thought it was strong and free and beautiful, too. Like the stars." Soujiro smiled.  
  
"I think the wind really is," he said. "I used to like the wind a lot when I was little, too. I used to dream of being able to move like the wind."  
  
"Back when you could still dream?" she asked, the smile returning to her face. Soujiro was glad to see it again. He had a feeling he had just survived a crisis somehow, the first one in a long time that did not involve steel.  
  
"It was one of the last ones to go," Soujiro said. "It was one of the only ones I still had left when Shishio found me." He didn't go as far as to say that Shishio had helped him make it come true; even with her, there was an iron lock on any words that would relate to his fighting style. Shishio had had techniques and secrets that he never even revealed to Yumi, and he would have trusted her with anything.  
  
"Beautiful and strong and free," Young-eun repeated thoughtfully, almost wonderingly. "I think you're a lot closer than you know." Soujiro gave a start, but his smile brightened.  
  
Once again, he was going to make a remark to the contrary, but she was smiling again, and he didn't want to disagree with her and risk her crying again. It made him uncomfortable when she did, and it obviously wasn't that much fun for her, either. So he decided to turn the conversation back to her. "I think you are, too," he answered.  
  
Soujiro had a feeling that for once, he had said something right. The last tears faded from her eyes. There was a kind of tension gone from her as she threw back her head, put her arms out onto the roof behind her, and laughed lightly into the breeze. As if spurred by her sudden outburst, a the wind picked up in a momentary gust, rippling her kimono and sweeping her hair out behind her face again in a raven tail. She kept laughing for so long that Soujiro couldn't help but smile a little. He almost laughed himself.  
  
She sprawled loosely on the roof again, her hands cradling the back of her head and looking at the stars. Soujiro did not lay down again; he just shifted where he was sitting to be able to face her better. She was still laughing softly.  
  
"Strong and free and beautiful," she whispered into the wind. "You don't know if I'm strong, and it doesn't look like I'm free." She propped her head up on one elbow and stared into his eyes. "Do you think I'm beautiful?"  
  
Soujiro was completely taken aback by the question, and an actually puzzled expression crept over his face. This was one of those things that he really knew nothing about. Even Shishio had had better appreciation of aesthetics than him. Why in the world was she even asking him this? He wouldn't know one way or the other. Yumi had once tried to get him to appreciate art, telling him the history of some of the famous masterpieces in Shishio's private collection, showing them to him, going on and on about form and color and style, hoping that something would sink in. Nothing ever had. Yumi had eventually given up on the idea as a lost cause. The results had been the same when she tried to get him to appreciate music. He had fallen asleep in the middle of the fourth movement of the only classical concert Yumi had ever taken him to; she had woken him up by smacking him on the head with her umbrella and saying something along the lines of, 'You hairbrained lout! Don't you have any respect for beauty at all?' It was another one of those memories that he had repressed.  
  
Nevertheless, he was determined to make a stab at it. The little Korean girl had made him think things he had never thought before, and had made him look at her in a way that he had never looked at anything before. He supposed that had to count for something. "Yes," he said after an awkward moment of silence. "I think you are."  
  
It was a long time after that before either of them spoke again. Neither one knew what to say after that. Soujiro suddenly realized that this moment might have been as awkward for Young-eun as it had been for him. Only, she seemed so in her element here, that seemed impossible. This was clearly the real her here, but even the real her might not be any more experienced with men than he was with women. He remembered that she wasn't exactly the social type here. He remembered her adoptive father saying something about her not having guests over for years.  
  
He was startled out of his woolgathering when something touched his hand. He looked down to see the slender hand of the little Korean girl resting on top of his own. He suddenly hoped that she didn't feel as awkward as he did. He felt this awkward since Shishio had taken him out on a frozen mountain lake to teach him how to fight on ice, and that awkwardness had only lasted a few minutes. He somehow doubted he would ever get used to this. He flinched, and almost drew his hand away, but he simply swallowed hard and forced his nerves to settle. A moment later, the tension drained out of him, and he relaxed again. The situation was still awkward, however, and he didn't know what to do. So he didn't do anything, and simply allowed Young-eun to leave her hand lying on his. It was awkward, though, and he couldn't think straight while looking into her eyes for some reason. So he decided to try what she had done several times already that night. He turned and looked into the face of the north wind.  
  
The air was definitely brisk when he allowed it to hit him full in the face, but he found that it cooled his head a little. The feel of Young-eun's hand still loomed large in his awareness, though. It had been a long time since he felt comfortable with anyone touching him. He still didn't, even now. Even Shishio and Yumi had learned to keep their hands to themselves with him, however much they were all over each other. Shishio had never patted him on the back or shook his hand after a good workout or mission. Yumi had never rubbed his hair or given him a hug after a long absence. The time she had hit him with her umbrella was one of the few times she had ever touched him at all. He had not even known Young-eun for half a day yet. The girl's touch still made him uncomfortable, but now he found himself thinking that he could probably learn to get used to it. Eventually.  
  
After another few minutes of silence, the moment was broken when Ukita called up from the hatch to ask if everything was all right. Young-eun shook herself at the sound, and got up to leave. The wind spirit was gone.  
  
"Thank you, Soujiro," she said as she made her way back to the hatch. "It's been forever since I had a night like this."  
  
Soujiro smiled, though he really didn't know what she was talking about. Nonetheless, he answered, "You're welcome." Well, he really didn't know what he had given her, but she had said 'thank you,' so that was what Yumi always had told him to reply when anyone said that.  
  
He suddenly realized that she was waiting for him, and he got up. It was time to go. He walked glided over to the hatch, cast a last smile into Young-eun's eyes, and dropped down into her bedroom again. From there, he helped her down from the roof. Ukita was not in the bedroom; Soujiro could hear him moving around in the room on the other side of the wall, the room he had guessed to be the former Ishin's own bedroom.  
  
Soujiro and Young-eun exchanged farewells, and Soujiro turned to leave, when Young-eun called after him. "Soujiro?"  
  
Soujiro turned halfway.  
  
"Will you come back tomorrow?"  
  
Soujiro thought for a moment. No longer. "Sure. Maybe a little earlier would be better, though?"  
  
Young-eun shook her head sadly. "I can't, I have to work until midnight again."  
  
"OK, the same time then."  
  
She smiled again. "Thanks," she replied, almost as if relieved.  
  
"You're welcome," Soujiro answered instinctively. Young-eun laughed lightly, and the two of them walked out through the living room to the front door. Soujiro turned and called out a farewell to Ukita, still hidden in the bedroom, but the blacksmith did not come out to answer it. Soujiro shrugged slightly, turned one last glance on Young-eun, and vanished into the night.  
  
***  
  
Young-eun leaned back against the door for a long while after she had closed it, her eyes closed and her breathing deep. She had lied when she told Soujiro that it had been forever since she had had a night like this. She had never had a night like this. Without even really thinking about it, she ran a hand through her hair, pulling the silvery headband away to allow it to hang free. She could not believe that someone like that had been an assassin, whatever he said. He couldn't possibly have been very good at it.  
  
Suddenly, she realized that cold wisps of air were blowing across her skin, and it occurred to her that something was wrong. She tensed, all thought of the little blue-clad assassin vanishing from her mind. Ukita-san had not come out of the bedroom to say farewell to Soujiro, and then he had not even come out to talk to her after the boy had left. That was completely unlike him.  
  
She slipped cautiously to the bedroom door and looked in. Then she screamed. Ukita-san was lying on the floor unconscious, an ugly black and blue lump glaring at her from atop one of his temples. The window was hanging open, the source of the cold draft she had felt.  
  
Her scream was cut off, though, by a rough foot in her chest that swung down from above her head, followed by the rest of Genji Taku. Spots danced in front of her eyes at the impact, and she stumbled back into the sitting room. The crashing sound of another man, perhaps several more, clambering through the rear window reached her ears.  
  
A scream of rage and fear broke loose from Young-eun's lips as she returned the attack. Her hands grasped for something, anything, and she was rewarded with a heavy ornamental iron bowl that her father left on the table. The bowl left her hands at an incredible speed, but Genji sidestepped it, though he barely managed to do so, and there was a sickening cruch as the man behind him, who couldn't see what Young-eun was doing, got a hard welcome in Ukita's house.  
  
Young-eun used the momentary delay to make a dash at Ukita's weapons cabinet, but Genji moved fast enough to cut her off, slamming the door closed with his foot the moment Young-eun began to open it. Young-eun responded by ramming into his knee with her own, but her kimono hindered her movement, and his first kick had stunned her. Too late, she saw the tiny knife in his hand as it flashed out and licked along her exposed leg before she could draw it back. She pulled back, but she felt her leg stiffening, and she could not move like she usually did; there was more than her blood on the surface of that knife.  
  
"Yamashina-sama would like to meet you again," he drawled, as several more shadowy figures burst into the room, dressed in full Ninja attire so that she could not see their faces. "I'm glad to see that you have no objections worth talking about."  
  
"Kushou ... kushou ..." (1) Young-eun gasped as the numbness in her legs began to spread to the rest of her body. *Soujiro!* she screamed into the blackening silence of her mind. *Where are you?!*  
  
  
*****  
  
  
CHAPTER 8:  
ALONE  
  
Soujiro reached the solitude of the Iron Dragon Inn without any difficulty. The town might as well have been deserted. The crowd at the stable had long since departed, and the horses were peacefully asleep again. Karachi's wagon was gone. So the merchant had not been lying about getting out of Ichibou immediately; had thought that the merchant might have backed down at the last moment and spent the night at the inn. The man must have been pretty frightened to forget about the money he paid for the rooms.  
  
Soujiro suffered from no such fear. He walked back into the inn, across the common room, slightly less busy now, and up to his room. Soujiro's eyes widened when he saw his room for the first time; Karachi had made good on his word. The quarters were spacious, and the sleeping pallet and pillow were stuffed with soft down. A small plate of fruit and a decanter of water occupied a small end table against one wall, and there were tasteful hangings on the walls. At least, Soujiro assumed they were tasteful. He had never been much of a judge of such things.  
  
He was alseep moments after his head touched the pillow.  
  
Soujiro awoke at sunrise, and rubbed the sleep from his eyes groggily. He started, and leapt from the bed, reaching for his sword before he realized where he was. He was in his room.  
  
*What happened?* he wondered. *A moment ago I was with ...*  
  
His eyes widened silently. *I was dreaming.*  
  
It had been so long since Soujiro had dreamed that he had almost forgotten what it was like. He couldn't believe it. It had seemed so ... real. And yet not. He clutched his hands to his head. Why now? As if he didn't have enough problems. Of course, thinking back on it a second time, the dream had not been unpleasant. It had been even longer since he had had that experience.  
  
He stood at his window, staring at the sunrise for a long time. It was the second sunrise he remembered seeing since the last sunset. Only in the first sunrise, there had been someone else there. Now he had awakened again; now was alone again.  
  
After a light breakfast of water and moderately fresh fruit, Soujiro set out to explore the town again. It was an interesting experience walking through a town with no true purpose in mind. He allowed himself the thought, *No one to kill.*  
  
Once again, Soujiro noticed that the vast majority of people of the town did not live in fear the way Young-eun apparently did. Most of them looked to be just normal people on their way to work, to breakfast, to the market, to a friend's house, to anywhere else where they might want or need to go. Soujiro could sense fear, and he never sensed it on any of the people strongly enough to be able to pinpoint the oppression that he had heard of. On the other hand, the town was clearly missing some kind of vibrancy. The place seemed almost ... dead ... compared to other towns he had been to, except for perhaps Shingetsu where Senkaku's oppression was completely open. The streets were dirty, buildings were in disrepair, and people were untidy. The night had hidden much of that, aside from the smell, but the return of daylight only illuminated the fact that nothing had changed.  
  
Soujiro wandered from place to place in town, but gradually grew more fed up with the place until he wandered right on out the south gate that he had entered less than twenty-four hours previously. The guards paid him no heed whatsoever.  
  
Soujiro spent most of the day clambering amidst the lower reaches of the rocky foothills to the southwest of the town. It was good exercise, and it was good to breathe free air again. It was good to have a few hours of solitude as well, and even with the wind whistling through the crags in the rocks, the land seemed far more still even a single mile from the town. Soujiro had always had a deep inner affinity for silence, even though he blended into crowds like a shadow.  
  
After several hours of scampering around in the lower foothills, he stopped for a rest in a rocky alcove in a rock face high above the valley floor, and a good distance above the southwest corner of Ichibou as well. From here, he could see across the entire town to the northeast, and even beyond. A long, low slope ran for several hundred yards to the east of Ichibou before the land broke; two sharp, jumbled, rocky slopes reared skyward on either side of the entrance to a heavily forested ravine that ran down the slope on the far side of the crest and out of sight. To the north, the pristine spires of the Japanese Alps towered majestically above the rest of the mortal world. And in the middle of it all lay the dark spot of Ichibou. There was no other word for it; the uncleanliness of the town was vivid from Soujiro's vantage, especially since he was closest to the southwest corner of the town, where the heavy industry was concentrated. The breeze from the mountains that he had savored during the night had died; the air seemed to stagnate even as it rose from the town.  
  
Once he had rested, Soujiro climbed down from the alcove and spent the rest of the day in the meadows of the valley below, where the crude stone wall of the town hid the sight from his eyes. He still knew that nothing was changing while he wasn't looking, but at the moment, he didn't care. He found a low area sheltered from view of either the road or the town, and worked out for a little while before returning to town.  
  
He returned to Ichibou just after sunset. He noticed that the guards paid him slightly more heed coming in than coming out, but he guessed that was only natural. He couldn't shake the feeling that they paid him a lot more attention than they had even paid Karachi when the merchant and his wagon had arrived, even though the merchant had had to bribe the guards to let him through. The guards had only been mildly interested in the merchant. This time, he felt their eyes on his back even after he passed through the gates.  
  
He had planned to go immediately back to the Red House for dinner again, but the nagging sensation of being watched convinced him to alter his plans. He had an instinct about such things that had been highly developed even before Shishio had discovered him, and he had learned to trust it when it whispered to him. Instead, he took a route that led him a few blocks northward to the main open-air market of the town, where the last of the day's crowd was beginning to thin out. It was enough for him, though. He ghosted through the crowd as though it wasn't even there.  
  
As soon as he reached one of the farthest streets leading out of the market, he stopped and turned to see if he could catch a glimpse of anyone who might have been shadowing him. He thought he caught a glimpse of a black-clad figure that vanished into a doorway as he turned, but he could not be sure. It didn't matter. Whoever it was could not see him for a brief moment. It was all the time he needed. He slipped into a patch of shadow and vanished, and not even the vendors and customers at this end of the market were any the wiser.  
  
He made his way back to the Red House without any real difficulty after that. The sensation of being watched was gone for the moment, though he had no illusions that whoever his second shadow had been had given up. South Street was not as busy as it had been the previous evening, but it was also a little earlier in the evening than it had been on Soujiro's first visit.   
  
The Red House was noticeably less busy as well; there were several empty tables, and few of those that were occupied were full. There were only two waitresses working, and it looked like they were more than able to keep up with the business at the moment. However, Young-eun was not among them. Soujiro searched back in his memory. Hadn't she said she was going to be working tonight? Maybe she wasn't working until later ... only, it really wasn't that early. It was dinnertime, after all.  
  
He took a table and waited for one of the waitresses to come to him. It did not take long. The real crowd probably wouldn't come in until later, he guessed.  
  
"Hi, my name's Azami," she began in typical waitress fashion. "Ready to order? Or can I get you something to drink first?"  
  
"Actually," Soujiro answered, "I wanted to ask you a question. Did Young-eun come to work today?" He didn't see any real point in beating around the bush. If there was something going on, he doubted that the waitress would be involved; in his experience, usually the owners and managers were the ones that got involved with the things that they shouldn't, and their employees were left to deal with it as best they could.  
  
An irritated look entered Azami's eyes. "No, and she was supposed ..." she cut off suddenly, and her expression changed from annoyance to a touch of worry and hesitation. "Sorry, I don't know where she is," she finished haltingly. Soujiro focused on her eyes, though; in the instant that her expression changed, her eyes had been gazing over Soujiro's shoulder, not at him. Soujiro turned and shot a glance out of the corner of his eyes in that direction; the curtain over the kitchen door was just swinging closed. Soujiro's eyes narrowed. He somehow doubted that the sight of the kitchen door had changed her mood so quickly.  
  
"Sumimasen," he said as he stood up. "But I just remembered, I have something else to do before I can eat dinner." He stood up, apologized again to a surprised and confused Azami, and darted out the door. Somehow, the red light district was losing its appeal at the moment.  
  
As soon as he reached the shadows beyond South Street, he took off, retracing the steps in his mind that he and Young-eun had followed on their way back to her house the previous night. He had to stop and think a few times--he had not exactly been focusing on street signs at the time--but he eventually arrived at the familiar entrance of the blacksmith's abode. Only, there was not much familiar about it.  
  
The house was completely dark and silent, which it certainly should not be, since the blacksmith ran his shop from his house. It was still prime working hours; in fact, Soujiro could hear hammers busily at work in two other buildings along the street. There was a crude plaque fastened to the door as well, of rough black wood with red print. Soujiro darted up to it. His eyes narrowed as he read.  
  
*NOTICE*  
  
*The residents herein are under arrest for civil disobedience. All property rights are forfeit. The former residents will serve the state at hard labor for an indefinite period. Signed and sealed, Senkaku, Lord Mayor of Ichibou.*  
  
Soujiro stood and stared at the door for almost a full minute after that. His face was absolutely expressionless, though he felt like his blood was boiling. Slowly, the Oh-Waza-Mono blade slid free of its sheath. Soujiro looked at it for a full minute as well, holding it sideways so he could look at his own reflection in the polished edge of the blade. The only glow was that of the dim street lights, creating a hellish contrast to the emotionless, boyish smile that crept slowly across his face.  
  
A sudden blur of steel ended the short life of Senkaku's notice. Soujiro tried the door, but found it locked. After that, he tried the rear, but the workshop door was barred and the rear windows had been boarded up. He searched his memory, but he was sure that they hadn't been as of last night. He had never noticed one way or the other, but Ukita would never allow any wall of his house to fall into such disrepair. However, Soujiro knew of one more entrance to the house.  
  
Coiling himself, Soujiro drove himself skyward and onto the roof. The hatch came up effortlessly in his hands, and Soujiro dropped softly into Young-eun's bedroom. A sinking sensation came over him. Whoever had taken them must have come almost immediately after he left, not even waiting for morning. Her bedroom was exactly as he had left it, and it was plain that she had not spent the night there. She probably would have at least locked the hatch before she went to bed, but the bed was still only partially made. The pallet still bore the impressions from where the two of them had jumped up off of it and back down onto it the previous evening, so it was a little rumpled, but otherwise, it was still made. No one had slept in it.  
  
The rest of the house bore more signs of struggle. Furniture and tableware had been broken and scattered everywhere in both the sitting room and Ukita's bedroom. There were dried stains on the walls, especially in the bedroom; apparently the fighting had been worst there. The boarded window was in the bedroom as well, so Soujiro guessed that Senkaku's minions had entered from there. Ukita's weapons cabinet had been torn open and nearly cleaned out. A single blade lay on the floor, apparently discarded by whoever had been clearing out the cabinet. Its sheath lay a few feet away.  
  
Soujiro turned and was about to leave when something stopped him. He moved closer to get a better look at the sword that had been left behind. The light in here was very poor, but there was something about it that caught his eyes. He lifted it up, and ran one finger across the blade. It was completely dull. *No wonder they didn't take it,* he thought to himself. He made a few practice passes in the air with the blade, with surprising ease. The weight and balance of the blade were almost perfect. Soujiro wished that Ukita would have taken the time to sharpen it, only it would probably have been taken then.  
  
Suddenly, he jumped back in surprise, and the blade clattered to the floor. He had just rolled the sword across his right forearm along the back edge of his blade, using a trick ShiShiO-san had taught him to change blade hands without lowering one's guard. It didn't work with this blade the way it should have. The back edge of the blade had made a thin slit in Soujiro's jacket, and he had felt the cold bite of sharpened steel against his skin.  
  
It was a sakaba sword.  
  
It did not even occur to Soujiro not to take it with him. He dropped the old katana that he had taken from one of ShiShiO's former soldiers in a garbage heap in Ukita's workshop, picked up the sakaba in the sitting room, headed back into Young-eun's bedroom, and sprang out the hatch in the ceiling. He only touched down on the roof once; his next leap carried him over the front of the roof and back down in front of Ukita's home. He landed in a low crouch, and only straightened when he saw that there was still no one else on the street.  
  
The shards of the notice board that Soujiro had destroyed drew his attention. The bottom quarter was still intact, and had landed face up in front of the house.  
  
Signed and sealed, Senkaku, Lord Mayor of Ichibou.  
  
An emotionless smile crept across Soujiro's face, and he directed his eyes up at the stars. Cold. Distant. Dark. There was only one person still living, perhaps two, who knew what hid behind that smile. Even Shishio's other highest subordinates had never seen what the Battousai and his sidekick had. But behind those boyish eyes, a red-golden light was beginning to simmer.  
  
"Senkaku," he said aloud in a voice that was almost friendly, but would be bone-chillingly familiar to anyone who had known him under ShiShiO, "I don't think you should have done that."  
  
A cold wind out of the north began to gust and swirl through Ichibou as Soujiro turned towards Senkaku's town hall on the north side of the town. As he closed on the autocrat's headquarters, dark clouds began to sweep across Ichibou out of the north as well, riding the north wind. Their shadows descended on Soujiro like a phantasmal wall of midnight, but Soujiro melded into the dark as though he were part of it. The sky was completely lightless as Soujiro finally came into view of the town hall. Even the stars were hiding their eyes.  
  
*****  
  
(1) Damn  
  
  
COMING SOON: Chapter 9, "Senkaku," and Chapter 10, "The Iron Mines." At least, I think so; if you read this part of the last installment, you'll notice that I made a few changes to my outline as I went.   
  
At any rate, Senkaku has learned a few new tricks since being taken out by the Battousai as well; someone has been giving him a few pointers, and he's picked up a new weapon. However, Young-eun and Ukita are not with Senkaku; they're being held somewhere else. (Not that this earns him any sympathy from Soujiro.)  
  
Thanks to everyone who read & reviewed any/all of the first three installments! I'm glad that people are showing a little interest in my work, and I hope to hear your thoughts on this section as well! Viva Soujiro! 


	5. Chapter 9

DISCLAIMER: We both know I don't own Soujiro, ShiShiO, Kenshin, Senkaku, or any of the other characters that are making Watsuki Nobuhiro and his corporate sponsors/affiliates rich. If I did, I wouldn't need to worry about tuition, renting an apartment, or saving for a trip to Europe this summer. I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. If not ... chikushou, aku baka!  
That reminds me ... my Japanese is next to nonexistent. Don't fault me for it. At least I'm trying.  
Happy reading!  
  
ANTI-DISCLAIMER (would that be just a "claimer?"): Some of these characters ARE my own creation, as well as many elements of the setting; the town of Ichibou, Kim Young-eun, Karachi Hoebu, Yamashina Ito, and several other minor characters are my own ideas. Use your head. If it never appeared in anywhere in the Kenshin series, then it's probably mine. Not that anyone cares but me.  
  
SPOILERS/BACKGROUND: To Kenshin TV ep 61, "Remaining Ju Pon Gattana, Choice of Life."  
  
*****  
  
  
CHAPTER 9:  
SENKAKU  
  
The town hall of Ichibou was large structure, but it looked like it had been smaller not so long ago and had been expanded recently, and by architects who were concerned more with doing a quick job than a good one. It was only one story, though the roof was noticeably higher in the center than in either of the two wings. The center section, which looked to be the original part, was substantially more solidly built than either wing, and whoever had put together the later construction was clearly incapable of works such as the domed skylight in the middle of the building. The structure stood in the center of a small, crude, and dirty plaza not far from the northern edge of Ichibou. Crimson torchlight burned hotly in the windows, outlining the silhouettes of leather-armored guards stationed by the entrances or patrolling near the windows. More torches and lanterns outside the house illuminated the plaza as well as any street in Ichibou other than South Street.  
  
Soujiro approached the main entrance fearlessly, making no effort to hide. There were eight guards on duty, but most of them didn't look like they knew how to handle a razor blade, much less a katana. A pair of katanas in leather sheaths hung by his hip, but he did not move by a fighter, at least not to the untrained eye. He seemed to be no more than a village boy taking a stroll.  
  
They moved to block his path immediately, just as he expected. "Who goes there?" one of them called.  
  
"Is Senkaku here?" Soujiro called out in reply.  
  
"He's busy!" the guard snapped.  
  
Soujiro's eyes darkened. *He'd better be busy alone,* the black thought ran through his mind. He doubted that Young-eun would still be in the town hall, if she had ever even been brought here. Senkaku was probably simply drunk or busy tormenting some poor captive and didn't want to be interrupted. The man never involved himself with anything constructive that ever went on inside a town hall. 'Constructive' was simply not part of his nature. Soujiro did not let any of this show in his smile, his eyes, or his voice, however.  
  
"Well, then, I want you to get him a message for me," Soujiro replied politely. "Can you do that, please?"  
  
"I'll see what I can do," the guard replied sourly. He seemed to take some offense at Soujiro's attitude. Soujiro didn't know why; he didn't bear the guard any ill will. If anything, Soujiro should be the one offended; at least he had taken a bath recently.  
  
"Good," Soujiro answered. "Please tell him that Seta Tenken-no-Soujiro is giving him fifteen minutes to prepare, out of respect for a former master. Tell him that he should have a combat medic ready, too. He might need it." Soujiro's smile never wavered in the slightest as he spoke, and it actually brightened as he turned to leave.  
  
The guard bristled, though Soujiro had spoken as politely as he knew how. "Is that a threat?" he asked dangerously.  
  
Soujiro was already walking away, however, and the warning was directed at his back. "Of course," the blue-clad assassin replied over his shoulder. *I thought it was pretty obvious,* he thought to himself as he walked away.  
  
"Hold it!" the guard called again. Soujiro did not miss a stride. The man made a move to run up behind him, then thought better of it, then started forward again, then finally backed off and let Soujiro leave. A momentary flash of surprise darted through Soujiro's mind. The man wasn't as dumb as he looked.  
  
Soujiro spent the next ten minutes or so in the Shinto shrine a pair of blocks east of the town hall. He was not praying, but he wanted a quiet atmosphere to meditate and warm up before he confronted Senkaku. He had not given Senkaku those fifteen minutes out of pure generosity. The warning itself was the generous part; Soujiro had not planned to march straight in to confront ShiShiO's former crony immediately.   
  
The shrine was completely empty, and it was fairly clean as well. It was set on a tiny rise within the town, less than five feet above the main streets, but high enough that the mountains were visible from the northern windows and entrance. There were six dim lamps casting light into the central chamber, two by each of the three doors, one facing all directions save south. Soujiro smiled. This was a lot closer to what he was used to. There was very little furniture, and the decorations were simple, but somehow it didn't stand out as impoverished. The central chamber also seemed a lot bigger than it actually was, because of the lack of furniture and the slightly higher ceiling.  
  
Soujiro stood in the center of the room for a brief minute, facing the north entrance and allowing the brisk draft of the north wind to ripple through his hair and clothes. Slowly, steadily, calmly, he slid the sakaba free of its unadorned sheath and held it horizontally in front of his forehead, almost in a salute to the north wind coming down from the mountains to meet him. Images trickled back to him, images of the spirit of the north wind that he had spent the evening with on the roof of the blacksmith's home. The wind in her hair, her smile, the relaxed muscles, the light in her eyes when she had let her guard down for him.   
  
He had not realized then exactly what effect those had had on him; he still didn't, but it didn't matter. He did know that he would never find out one way or another if he just let her vanish. That was the way of the world sometimes, and he had seen it in action a thousand times without ever experiencing it for himself: people never realized the value of anything until it was gone.  
  
He lowered the katana and his body into a fighting stance.   
  
Anyone who might have stopped by the Shinto shrine of Ichibou in the space of those next few minutes would very likely not have believed their eyes. There was a dark whirlwind twisting around the room, a dark blue blur dotted with occasional metallic flashes of firelight on steel streaking from one corner to the other, even up the walls. Occasionally the blur would resolve into the form of a small boy soaring through the air, only to blur and vanish again once his feet touched solid ground. All at once, the boy vanished completely from human eyes, only to reappear in the middle of the room once again, standing still except for the fluid movement of sheathing his katana.  
  
"Time's up," he whispered into the wind.  
  
The room was plunged into complete darkness as the severed tips of all six torches dropped to the ground, scattering into dull, leaden embers. Soujiro had cleanly clipped them all off with the Oh-Waza-Mono blade on his final pass around the room, each within a fraction of an instant of the one before.  
  
Waiting only long enough to ensure that he had not just started a fire, Soujiro strode back out into the street that led back to the town hall. Images of Young-eun still flashed occasionally through the corners of his mind, but it was as if he was sealed off from them somehow. It was a sensation he was used to feeling, and he did not even fully realize that the mindset had returned to him. It was the mindset of the Tenken. The sky was overcast and the streetlamps were few and far between even this close to the town hall, but Soujiro knew what anyone who happened to catch a glimpse of him would see. He was smiling like a child on a feastday.  
  
Soujiro stopped in a dark, sheltered alcove as soon as he came within sight of the town hall. The guard had been tripled in the fifteen minutes since Soujiro turned his back on it. Soujiro was actually impressed. The guard had taken him seriously enough to deliver the warning, it seemed. He wouldn't have believed it. However, Soujiro was not in the mood to waste time with guards. He slipped back into the shadows of an alley.  
  
As quickly as he could manage without making too much noise, Soujiro climbed up onto the roof of the two-story building next to the little plaza surrounding the town hall. He seemed to be spending a lot of time on roofs lately. Once there, he crouched low and tiptoed to the edge facing the plaza. Fortunately, the closest streetlamps were all some distance away, and none were bright enough to reach this far up, anyway. The pitch blackness of the sky was working in his favor. The streetlamps and the torches of the guards were the only light, and they weren't much. Soujiro backed up slowly across the roof of the building, keeping himself lined up with the building across the plaza. Once he reached the far end of the roof, he crouched even lower and leaned forward, tapping one foot on the ground behind him slowly. Then, in the space of a heartbeat, he sprang forward.  
  
He coiled his body as he reached the end of the roof and sailed off into the night sky. His powerful legs propelled him far above the reach of the streetlamps and torches, especially since the guards on the ground didn't even contemplate the possibility of an attack from above. Fortunately, this was not exactly the world's largest plaza; it was barely wider than South Street. Soujiro's legs proved equal to the challenge, and he landed softly on the roof of the town hall of Ichibou with almost five feet to spare. He had to roll to absorb the impact, but Shishio had taught him that before he had even outgrown the clothes Shishio had found him in. Once on the roof, Soujiro turned his attention to the glass skylight above the central chamber of the town hall. Again, he crouched low, and drifted silently across the roof until he had a good enough angle to look down. As soon as he did, a familiar face came into view.  
  
Senkaku looked the same as ever. He was surrounded by a small gaggle of cronies, and all looked like they were holding a contest to see who could go for the longest without taking a bath. He sat on what might even have been a small throne at the back of the central chamber. A large council table covered with maps, papers, and other paraphernalia occupied the middle of the room, immediately below the skylight. The only door to the council chamber was barred from the inside with a heavy oaken beam, and the doors themselves looked fairly secure as well. The person talking to Senkaku attracted Soujiro's eyes as much as Senkaku himself, however. Soujiro recognized him even though his back was turned; after all, his back had been turned the first time Soujiro has seen it as well. It was the man that the owner of the Red House had called Genji. He was wearing a brown Western-style outdoor jacket and pants, and a thin, black cloth sweatband around his forehead. A katana hung in an unadorned scabbard by his left hip.  
  
Soujiro dearly wished that he could hear what Genji was saying. Apparently the man had connections to both Senkaku and Yamashina. He didn't need to wonder about Senkaku's replies, however. The man's voice was so loud that it carried all the way up to the skylight, and it was as tight a voice as Soujiro had ever heard from him.  
  
"Dammit, Genji!" was the first thing Soujiro was able to hear as soon as he had gotten himself settled. Genji murmured something in response. He seemed to be trying to calm Senkaku, to no avail.  
  
"How the hell is he going to ..." Senkaku exploded again, but Genji cut him off with some sharp words that Soujiro couldn't hear. The response was apparently very icy, however, because Senkaku's back stiffened at the words.  
  
"Yes, if he comes, I'll fight him!" Senkaku snarled.  
  
There was a ferocious crash and a shower of broken splinters of glass as the skylight scattered into the room and Soujiro landed softly on the council table. There was a great deal of screaming and cursing, but neither Senkaku nor any of his minions came at Soujiro right away. Senkaku and Genji had been standing far enough away that the glass did not touch them, but many of Senkaku's guards were not so lucky, and the rest did not seem eager to charge the new arrival, even with both of his swords still in their sheaths.  
  
Soujiro broke the momentary silence after all of the glass had fallen. "I'm glad to hear you say that, Senkaku. It's been a while, hasn't it?"  
  
Surprise and frustration contorted Senkaku's face. "Guards!!" he bellowed at the top of his lungs.  
  
But Soujiro had already planned on this. He sprang backwards from the table and crossed the room just as Senkaku's retainers in the room moved to unbar the door to let the rest of the guards on the outside in. The sakaba sword flew from its sheath at the same instant. The two guards that had been by the door had already turned their backs to lift the beam away; they were the first to go.  
  
"Aoi Fusenmei Batsu!" he said as he reached the door. He did not attack the two of them directly from behind. Instead, he sprang and pushed off one side of the doorframe. His momentum carried him all the way to the other side of the doorframe ... straight through the two men lifting the beam off from its supports. They went flying sideways, rolled over ungracefully several times, and did not try to get up. The rest of the guards that had been moving towards the doors stopped dead in their tracks; most took a slow step or two backwards. Soujiro did not move a muscle. He kept his attention focused on Senkaku and Genji. A clamor and a pounding began behind him as the guards struggled with the doors, but Soujiro was unconcerned. Unless they had a battering ram or were willing to set the building on fire, they would not be breaking through anytime soon. The people already in the room demanded his attention.  
  
"Call them back," Soujiro called to Senkaku. "You know what will happen if you don't."  
  
Senkaku made a sound in his throat and hesitated, and almost looked as if he were about to accede when Genji interrupted, "Boy, you know how to make an entrance, but you're the one trapped, not us! Kill him!"  
  
One guard embarrassed himself by jumping forward a step, then leapt back with a frightened whimper when he realized that none of his companions had followed him. Soujiro just smiled at him, and he backed up a few more steps for good measure. The rest of the guards simply stood where they were and looked at each other, and at the two men gasping through their teeth in agony on the floor.  
  
Genji did not give up so easily, however. "Vermin!" he shouted at his men. "Whoever brings him down gets triple their pay this month! Get him!"  
  
A chorus went up among the guards. "Triple?! Get him!" They came at Soujiro in a rush, swords bared. Soujiro's smile only widened. It was probably going to be necessary to eliminate the other guards before he could fully concentrate on Senkaku and Genji, anyway; they were just making it much more convenient.  
  
The first guard to reach Soujiro tried to drive his sword straight through Soujiro's heart, but Soujiro spun to the ground and smashed the man's shins with the flat of his blade. The man's momentum flipped him up and over the crouching assassin, and he crashed headlong into the bar on the door behind Soujiro. He was already twitching in pain before he fell to the ground.  
  
From his crouched position, Soujiro dove to meet the next two attackers. He was about to take out one of them immediately when he realized that the other was winding up for a truly mindless swing. Instead, he pulled back at the last minute, catching the first man's katana on his own to hold him in position for a second. Then, as the other man brought his sword around, Soujiro leapt back, and the man swung around and sliced deep into the thigh of his own companion. His friend couldn't block it, because his sword had been held high by Soujiro's parry until a split second earlier.  
  
As Soujiro leapt back, he had planned to use the door as a springboard and lunge back in at the guard before he could react, but at the last instant before he did, he noticed something small and dark streaking toward him down the center of the room. He twisted aside widly and dove to the floor, much to the surprise of the guard who had just cut down his own friend, and there was a dull 'thunk' as a pair of spiral darts thudded into the wooden door behind him. Genji had not been fool enough to think that Senkaku's soldiers would be enough to stop him after all. The man had thrown them away as a diversion, and it had nearly worked. Soujiro had never seen spiral darts in action before, but he knew enough to know that they were usually poisoned.  
  
Fortunately, the guard in front of Soujiro was not quick enough to take advantage of the former Tenken's momentary imbalance. Without rising to his feet, afraid to give Genji any larger a target than necessary in case he had any more of those darts, Soujiro whirled his legs and twisted the rest of his body a moment behind them. The log roll was generally a desperate technique to avoid a death blow while on the ground, but at the speed Soujiro was capable of, it was a little more useful. He rolled right through the shins of the guard in front of him, but the roll also carried him up the middle of the floor just as the remaining four guards were beginning to close in on him down the sides of the chamber, forcing them to stop and change direction. Soujiro rolled all the way to the council table before he gathered his feet under himself again.  
  
Quickly, Soujiro burst back into the group of men now converged in front of the doors where he had been standing moments earlier. With four other men all larger than Soujiro in the way, and Soujiro wise to the fact that Genji was a danger even at this distance, the man would not get another shot. The man had just proved something that Soujiro had suspected for a while, however; this Genji, whoever he was, was not just an administrator or spokesman.  
  
A few quick flashes of sakaba steel later, all but one of Senkaku's soldiers lay unconscious on the floor in front of the door. Soujiro left the last one standing deliberately. He had spared the largest of all the original eight, and Soujiro danced around in front of him, almost seeming to toy with the man's katana. Soujiro was not playing around, however. He constantly maneuvered the man back and forth, and then backwards, one step at a time, using the man as an unknowing human shield against Genji's darts.  
  
Genji was no fool, however, and quickly realized what Soujiro was up to. "Nogushi, get out of the way!" he shouted as he moved to one side to try and get a better shot around the side of the larger man from across the room. Soujiro could see his fist clenched around another dart. He had been right to worry.  
  
Soujiro realized that this was not exactly the most efficient way to be going about things, and that he was going to be in a worse pickle if he continued to dally. Quickly, he caught the last guard's sword with his own, twisted it aside, and slid his own blade down the blade of his opponent's. The hilt of the sakaba made a muffled thud as it rammed into the guard's abdomen, and a sickening groan was all the sound that the guard could manage as he keeled over to the floor. Now Soujiro was free to concentrate on the last two people in the room. Genji was clearly the more dangerous, but Soujiro's attention was almost involuntarily drawn to Senkaku for a moment.  
  
Soujiro remembered Senkaku's fight with the Battousai. The man had been using heavy bladed gloves back then. His taste for unique and cumbersome weapons hadn't changed, but the gloves were gone. In their place, Senkaku held a gigantic two-handed sword, with a hilt nearly the size of a quarterstaff. The blade was significantly longer than Soujiro was tall, and nearly as wide as well. Soujiro's eyes widened. So much for old dogs and new tricks. Sometime since Soujiro had last seen him, Senkaku had taken up the Zanbatou.  
  
Genji made a move as though he were about to fire another dart at Soujiro, but thought better of it. Soujiro had already dodged two of them while in the middle of a pitched melee and taken by surprise. His odds of hitting with Soujiro aware of him and free to move as he wished were virtually nil. Eventually, he relaxed slightly. Soujiro did not bite, however. None of the battle-readiness had left his stance, and his hand was conspicuously close to the hilt of his katana. He was only inviting Soujiro to attack him, and Soujiro was not that close even had there not been a huge table in the way.  
  
Eventually, once he realized that Soujiro was not going to attack before he was ready, Genji spoke. "So you're this Seta Soujiro that I've heard so much about since yesterday," he drawled.  
  
"Hai," Soujiro responded cheerfully. Actually, he realized that it was probably not entirely true; Senkaku had never really known that much about him. Nonetheless, it did not seem worth explaining. He probably wouldn't do a very good job of explaining even if he wanted to. *Smile and say yes, Soujiro,* he told himself.  
  
"And you want to know where Young-eun is, I assume?" There was almost a kind of anticipation in his voice, as though this were leading somewhere, but Soujiro could not fathom where he was going with it. His eyes narrowed at the mention of Young-eun, but he did not allow it to ruffle his composure. Of course they knew that was what he was here for. What was the point of asking?  
  
"Hai," he answered again, though his smile had taken on a somewhat more feral edge to it now.  
  
Genji's only answer was a cold stare. Suddenly, however, an equally cold grin split his face, and he raised his katana at Soujiro in mock salute. "Excellent! You two should have a lot of fun together." Senkaku and Soujiro both stared at the man like he had gone mad. Soujiro was convinced that he might very well be.  
  
"Senkaku, you can work your way back into good standing with Yamashina with this, but if you don't bring him down, I suggest you find a low-profile way out of Ichibou before he or I find you again. We don't tolerate failures very well. Oh, and Soujiro ... the only way you're going to get any closer to her is through him. Maybe you can beat a few answers out of him."  
  
Soujiro ignored Senkaku's sharp "What?!" and directed his gaze at the brown-garbed samurai. "Maybe I could beat them out of you, too," he responded cheerily.  
  
Genji shrugged. "You could, if I were staying to watch. Unfortunately, I can't. I'm sure it would be entertaining." To Senkaku, he hissed, "Kill him or die." He was already in the air as the last left his lips, his katana fanning out in front of him to shatter one of the high windows in the west wall of the chamber. He rolled through the shower of glass and vanished into the night outside. Moments later, the sounds of the guards pounding on the outer doors vanished as well.  
  
Soujiro stared at the window, at first not even trusting the man's departure, but the sense of the man's aura was definitely fading. The man had to be half insane. Together, he and Senkaku probably had a chance against him, if he had been as good with the sword as he was with those darts. Instead, he had left Senkaku in the lurch. What on Earth had he been talking about, he couldn't stay? It wasn't that he had been afraid to fight; Senkaku had shown more signs of anxiety than Genji had. Did he really think that Senkaku could beat him? If he did, then Senkaku had to have learned a lot since the last time Soujiro had seen him. If not, then he had to have a reason for essentially sacrificing Senkaku to him.  
  
Slowly, Soujiro let the mysterious samurai out of his consciousness and turned to Senkaku. The man was at least not trembling at the sight of Soujiro the way he had before, and his size and strength made the Zanbatou less awkward for him than it would be for most. Soujiro thought he caught a few remaining flashes of uneasiness below the surface of his mien, but the mere fact that he had to look twice to see them told him that Senkaku had been doing more than bullying people since Soujiro last left him.  
  
"I'm impressed, Senkaku," Soujiro called. "It looks like you've learned a thing or two since Shingetsu."The thought actually rankled Soujiro a little bit; Himura and Senkaku had both gotten stronger since Shingetsu, but Soujiro really hadn't. He hated falling behind. He hid it as well as he hid anything about his inner personality, but there was a fiery competitor behind that smile.  
  
Senkaku gave him a fiendish smile. "Why don't we find out?" With that, he lunged to the attack, Zanba sword held low and pointed slightly upward in front of him. Soujiro eyes widened in surprise as the sword split the council table in half as Senkaku lunged through it. He danced aside, and Senkaku skidded past him, almost to the door. He did not even bother trying to parry; the force of the impact alone might have sent him crashing against the wall. Soujiro realized that that was probably Senkaku's intention in the first place.   
  
Senkaku wheeled around quickly, surprisingly quickly for someone bearing so cumbersome a weapon, and took a defensive stance. Soujiro was surprised again; Senkaku had never been one to take such a stance. His balance was better as well. Apparently he had paid some special attention to that after that had cost him an inglorious defeat at the hands of the Battousai.  
  
Nevertheless, Soujiro relaxed a little. The fact that Senkaku had taken a defensive stance reminded Soujiro that the former overlord of Shingetsu had never seen him fight before; even when he and Himura had traded blows in Shingetsu, Senkaku had been nearly unconscious. Senkaku had no idea what Soujiro was capable of; all he knew was that Soujiro the Tenken had been the highest of Shishio's followers.  
  
Furthermore, Soujiro could see that Senkaku was already a little rattled. He was keeping his composure better than he had at Shingetsu, but not that much better. Soujiro decided to pry the cracks a little. "How's the jaw, Senkaku?" he asked politely.  
  
Senkaku's answer was a roar and another lunge. This one was slower than the first one, however, and Soujiro was not a blind fool. Senkaku pulled up short and swept horizontally with the Zanba sword, but caught nothing but air. He followed up quickly, but he could not keep up with the Tenken. Soujiro did have to duck away to get out of the reach of the Zanbatou; Senkaku had a much longer reach with the colossal blade than with the special gloves he had worn before. However, there was a hitch in his stride as he readied himself again. He didn't realize until moments later that Soujiro had scored a small hit on his calf as he moved away. Had he been any slower, Soujiro might have gotten the base of his spine instead.  
  
Soujiro stopped at the remains of the council table and began tapping his foot quietly on the ground behind him. "Poor Senkaku," he grinned. "Fighting to defend someone who just left you by yourself."  
  
"I don't need the help of that Shinsen reject," Senkaku snarled. With that, he charged again, putting a little more weight behind his swing this time.  
  
Soujiro dodged again, but actually missed an opportunity to counter thinking about Senkaku's words. Senkaku probably assumed that he already knew something about Genji. Shinsen ... reject? That could explain a lot.  
  
The obvious approach was to simply ask about it. "Shinsen reject?" he asked casually. He did not lower his guard a fraction, however. He did not intend to miss another opening.  
  
Senkaku laughed. "You didn't know? He probably would have been one of the better ones among them, but they turned him away. Seems they didn't trust his dedication to their principles. Go figure."  
  
*Aku. Soku. Zan.* Soujiro thought to himself. He pictured the man named Genji in his mind again. *Nah.*  
  
"I thought the Shinsen Gumi gave everyone with enough skill a chance to prove themselves," Soujiro mused aloud.  
  
Senkaku laughed again. "His cousin had just gotten kicked out of the order for being a loose cannon. The captains didn't want to take that kind of risk again, said that he and his cousin had too much in common. That really pissed him off."  
  
"Enough to fall in with an Ishin?"  
  
"Enough." Soujiro caught the change in Senkaku's voice, and was ready for the attack. Another fierce flurry of blows followed, as Senkaku victimized the floor, walls, chairs, table shards, everything but his target. Soujiro flitted away from each attack as if Senkaku were barely moving.  
  
Eventually, Soujiro disengaged, adding a little flourish to it by somersaulting off the flat of the Zanba sword. He landed behind the ruins of the table, which by now was little more than a pile of wood chips. His smile gained a small tinge of smug satisfaction. Senkaku stopped to line up his next attack, but the man was breathing hard. That was one of Soujiro's advantages that even ShiShiO had never paid much attention to; even after using the Shuku-chi, Soujiro still always had breath to spare. He had not used anywhere near that level of speed against Senkaku. Senkaku was much stronger than most men, but trying to swing a Zanba that quickly was sapping even his endurance.  
  
Soujiro whipped his sword into position in front of him. "Where's Young-eun?" he asked. The question burned the inside of his eyes, but nothing of his inner feelings reached his smile.  
  
Senkaku's mouth curled into a wicked smile. "Wouldn't you like to know?" he mocked. "Tasty-looking wench, isn't she?"  
  
Soujiro's smile faded, though only for an instant. "I would not take that tone of voice, if I were you," he said icily. "Even if you do kill me, I doubt that you'll work your way back into good standing with Yamashina talking about her like that."  
  
Soujiro knew he had pushed the right button. He had assumed that Young-eun had to be with Yamashina, if she wasn't with Senkaku, or at the very least, out of Senkaku's reach, and the thought obviously did not sit will with the new Lord Mayor. Red rage boiled up in Senkaku's eyes, and his stance with the Zanbatou shifted. His grip changed as well, the left hand dropping back to the base of the hilt and his right  
moving up to just below the blade. He held the blade pointed out in front of him, almost like a spear.  
  
*It can't be,* Soujiro thought. *He can't possibly be thinking of trying that with a Zanba!*  
  
"To Hell with Yamashina, but first, to Hell with you!" Senkaku roared as he surged forward.  
  
Soujiro set himself quickly, then rolled in under the thrust of the Zanba. He used the sakaba to keep the Zanba above him; it was not as dangerous catching it from underneat, since its momentum was carrying it and Senkaku forward. With his other hand, he tore the Oh-waza-mono blade from its sheath at point blank range; the hilt crashed straight into and up underneath Senkaku's crotch. Senkaku's forward momentum and the upward thrust of the Soujiro's second sword sent him flying through the air, well above the prone form of Soujiro. A howl of pain and rage broke from his lips as he crashed into his own high-backed chair at the rear of the chamber. The chair crumbled into splinters, and the Zanba fell from Senkaku's grasp.  
  
Soujiro could have finished Senkaku effortlessly then, but he could have done that some time ago, and he wanted the man conscious for a little longer, at any rate. Besides, he was grinning from ear to ear and fighting down the urge to laugh uproariously.  
  
"The Gatotsu?!" Soujiro chuckled disbelievingly. "With a ZANBA?!" Senkaku's only response was a serious of strangled noises punctuated with gross expletives. Soujiro put his hand over his mouth to partially hide his smile. The momentum of the Gatotsu was hard enough to control with a katana; with a Zanba, it was lunacy, and Senkaku was no Shinsen Gumi captain, either. He had probably seen Genji use it once or twice, and maybe Genji had even told him something of the mechanics behind it, but certainly not enough for him to use it effectively. Especially not with the Zanbatou. Soujiro doubted that Genji told him much, anyway; samurai were notoriously closemouthed about their techniques.  
  
Senkaku was leveraging himself to his feet again with the Zanba, but he was clearly having trouble standing, and the weight of the Zanba on his arms would only increase the more he was hurt.  
  
"Let's try this again," Soujiro repeated. "Where's Young-eun?"  
  
Senkaku snarled and forced himself fully back onto his feet. A desperate light was beginning to blossom in his eyes, and Soujiro took a defensive stance. Desperate men became more vulnerable, but they also became more unpredictable.  
  
"If you tell me," Soujiro said, his voice growing colder with every word, "you can still get out of town before Yamashina gets to you. I'm a lot closer."  
  
Soujiro could see that Senkaku was wavering. He could see that his men were only unconscious, not dead, but he could not possibly known that Soujiro was not here for a kill, and he wasn't thinking very clearly at the moment anyway. Nevertheless, he was stubborn, and Genji's threat obviously still loomed large in his mind. He spat another string of curses at Soujiro, but they did not have the vehemence behind them that his last ones had.  
  
Soujiro did not waste this opening. Senkaku was on the verge of cracking, and Soujiro did not want to give him any time to recover. He was in a hurry. "Aoi Denkou Ryu," he called, "Kuushuu!" (1) He sprang into the air, his sword blurring as he came within striking range of Senkaku. Senkaku was too tired to get the Zanba sword above his head in time to even make a feeble attempt at defense. Soujiro scored two quick hits on Senkaku's shoulders, knocking him to the ground again, then sprang off the wall a few feet behind him, soaring almost to the ceiling as he catapulted himself back to where he had been standing before.  
  
"Senkaku," Soujiro breathed, surprised that his breath did not turn to frost as it left his lips, "if you make me knock you out, and they find you, they'll know you didn't kill me. Things won't go so well for you then. If you tell me where she is, you can get out of Ichibou now. While you can still walk."  
  
Senkaku rolled over and propped his head up to look at Soujiro, but either was not making any effort to stand again, or could not. He looked torn between deciding to spill and telling Soujiro to go to Hell.  
  
"Where is she?" Soujiro asked again, lining up for another strike and taking a step forward.  
  
Abruptly, Senkaku collapsed, splayed out in front of the remnants of the chair that had been his seat in Ichibou. "The mines," Senkaku said. "They took them ... to the mines."  
  
There was a steely hiss as Soujiro's sword slid back into its sheath. "Arigatou," (2) he said politely. The lightheartedness had returned to his voice again.  
  
Soujiro turned and walked back to the center of where the great table had stood only minutes earlier. He turned for one last look at the fallen despot. "Sayonara, Senkaku. Good luck," he said in farewell. With that, he drove himself skyward, grabbing the frame of the shattered skylight and hoisting himself back onto the roof.  
  
The cold wind out of the north had slowed but not abated. Soujiro closed his eyes and turned his face northward, basking in the breeze for a moment. On the roof of the town hall, the full force of it swirled around him, ruffling his hair and clothing. The breeze brought back memories of the previous night, of the spirit of the north wind that had spent the late hours of the night with him. Now she was spending the late hours of this one in captivity. So soon after baring her heartfelt yearning for freedom in front of him, she had been all put thrown into a cage. A cold flame burned in the back of his eyes as he opened them and turned towards the west.  
  
*Time to do some spelunking, Soujiro,* he thought grimly to himself. *Time to free the wind.*  
  
*****  
  
  
(1) Air raid  
(2) Thank you  
  
  
STILL TO COME: Chapter 10, "The Iron Mines." These chapters just keep getting longer, so I can't keep putting them up two or three at a time, especially now that I'm back at college and my time is becoming spread thin again.   
  
Soujiro finally gets to see firsthand the iron mines that he has heard so much rumor and hearsay about. He also finally gets to square off against Genji, and more of the story surrounding the would-have-been Shinsen Gumi comes into focus. However, the one piece of the puzzle that Soujiro is looking for is not at the mines anymore, and Genji is much better than Senkaku about holding his tongue.  
  
Once again, thanks to everyone who has read, reviewed, and enjoyed this work; this is my first fanfiction that I've ever written for online publishing, and I'm overjoyed to have gotten as positive a reaction as I have. Thanks for all your comments! I really appreciate them! 


	6. Chapters 10 & 11

DISCLAIMER: We both know I don't own Soujiro, ShiShiO, Kenshin, Senkaku, Udo Jin-e, or any of the other characters that are making Watsuki Nobuhiro and his corporate sponsors/affiliates rich. If I did, I would be getting money for writing fun stuff, not grades for writing boring dribble. I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. If not ... chikushou, aku baka!  
That reminds me ... my Japanese is next to nonexistent. Don't fault me for it. At least I'm trying.  
Happy reading!  
  
ANTI-DISCLAIMER (would that be just a "claimer?"): Some of these characters ARE my own creation, as well as many elements of the setting; the town of Ichibou, Kim Young-eun, Karachi Hoebu, Yamashina Ito, Genji Taku, and several other minor characters are my own ideas. Use your head. If it never appeared in anywhere in the Kenshin series, then it's probably mine. Not that anyone cares but me.  
  
SPOILERS/BACKGROUND: To Kenshin TV ep 61, "Remaining Ju Pon Gattana, Choice of Life."  
  
*****  
  
  
CHAPTER 10:  
THE IRON MINES  
  
The plaza around the town hall of Ichibou was deserted. The guards had vanished, and there was not a single passerby in sight. Even the stars were still hidden from view. Soujiro immediately wondered at that; it was not all that late in the evening. Genji had probably ordered the area cleared during his escape, but that didn't explain why. It didn't matter, anyway.  
  
Soujiro leapt lightly to the ground and scanned the area again. He was relieved to see a few passersby moving to and fro further down several of the streets leading away from the town hall; that probably meant that there weren't a few score of soldiers lying in ambush nearby. Maybe no one was near the town hall simply because no one wanted to talk to Senkaku. Soujiro couldn't blame them. More likely, Genji had told everyone, or had had the soldiers tell everyone, that the town hall was closed for the evening. Whatever the case, the few citizens that Soujiro could see were paying him and the town hall absolutely no mind whatsoever. Soujiro grinned wryly. *See no evil,* he thought sardonically. *Of course they don't want to think anything's wrong. If they did, they might feel they had to do something about it.*  
  
The trek to the western gate was surprisingly uneventful. Soujiro stayed hidden simply on principle, but he saw very few watchmen or soldiers either stationed or patrolling. Most of them were simply ordinary town guards, no different than what he might have seen in Kyoto or any other town. There was no sign of Senkaku's soldiers or Yamashina's Yakuza agents. Most of the people he passed were just ordinary citizens scurrying from place to place. The sight of them actually irritated Soujiro slightly. His mind flashed back to the little Korean girl every time he looked at one of them; there was someone who was a more direct target of the corrupt, powerful figures in the town than any of these people, and yet she somehow managed to bear it more proudly than any of the nameless people that he passed. That was something that touched a deep nerve in Soujiro. That was something that commanded respect.  
  
He had heard the western gate of Ichibou referred to as the Iron Gate, because the road that led out of it was a dead end, branching out into a number of small trails that led up to the entrance of the individual mineshafts. The main road itself, of course, ended at the mouth of the main entrance to the mines. Despite the fact that it was a dead end, however, the Iron Gate was the most secure of Ichibou's gates, because most of the workers at the mine were not there of their own accord, and anyone trying to escape would be forced to either come through the Iron Gate or scale nearly slopes so steep as to be suicide for inexperienced climbers. Thus it was at the Iron Gate that Soujiro met the first significant group of guards he had seen since arriving at the town hall.  
  
Soujiro was not really interested in fighting at the moment, however. Well, that was not entirely true, but he was not interested in fighting gate guards. He had no doubt that he could take every last one of them, but he did not have time to waste on diversions. Playtime could wait.  
  
Instead, he slipped along a northbound side street a block or two before reaching the small plaza in front of the Iron Gate. Once he had gone far enough north that the light from the gatehouse no longer reached the wall to the west, he turned his attention back to the wall. The western wall of Ichidou was in even worse disrepair than the southern one. There were footholds and crags everywhere, and they were easy to find even in the dark. Within moments, he was on top of the wall, and in the midst of a thick patch of shadow. Guards patrolled the top at odd intervals, but they were few and far between, and all of them carried torches that made them stand out long before they would be of any consequence. That was always one of the problems Soujiro had had with carrying torches; your enemies could see you long before you could see them.  
  
Getting down on the other side of the wall was a little trickier. He was a good distance north of the gatehouse, so he was not looking at an effortless drop onto a smooth surface. Ichibou had been built on a hill, and so it was a longer drop on the far side, and much more uneven as well. If it had been the southern side, he would have attempted it here anyway, but the southern side of Ichibou fell onto a fairly gentle grassy slope. This was much steeper and rockier; it fell sharply away from Ichibou for almost fifty feet below the base of the wall. The land began to slope upward after that, following a small canyon into the hills, but that was a long way to jump onto uneven and unyielding stone. There was one soft spot in the rocky armor of the land below, however. Unfortunately, it was on the south side of the gatehouse.  
  
The canyon that led into the hills and ultimately to Yamashina's iron mines had been formed by a small stream that had been diverted along the base of the wall. It flowed out of the canyon on the south side of the road, and then flowed south along the base of the wall after reaching the base of the wall. Soujiro knew that it had to have an outlet somewhere; very likely it was diverted under the wall at some point to be used in Yamashina's iron foundry, but this was of no consequence. The river looked more than deep enough to cushion the landing, if he could only get to it. There wasn't time to go back down into town, circumvent the gatehouse, and climb the wall on the other side, however. He was going to have to go through the gatehouse after all.  
  
"Yare yare," he sighed to himself as he thumbed his sword free of its sheath.  
  
He had no intention of taking down every soldier in the place. He had no doubt that he could have; he and Usui had both taken out larger and more professional groups than this before. However, he had no reason to waste time with them. They were not going to be able to catch him, and they wouldn't be able to do anything if they did. He didn't care if they sounded every alarm in the city and kept the entire village awake all night. He wasn't going to be sleeping much tonight, anyway.  
  
He kept low to the ground, and stayed in the shadows of the outer parapet until he was so close to the gatehouse that the northern door was within striking range. There wasn't any decent shadow any closer than this, anyway. His eyes narrowed. It was close enough, and there were only two guards between him and the door of the gatehouse atop the wall. If he could get in and out of the gatehouse on the opposite side quickly, he might be away into the shadows on the far side before any of the guards not on the wall knew what was happening.  
  
Of course, he had no intention of letting even those guards know, either.  
  
Most of the best fighters Soujiro had seen, even ShiShiO, had a battle cry of some kind. Himura and Saitoh both did. Most of the rank and file amateurs that he had seen and fought did. Soujiro had never used one. He was a cold, silent, deadly wind descending upon the unsuspecting guards. Soujiro knew how to strike and keep the enemy from crying out. He hit both of them in the lungs simultaneously, one with the hilt of the Oh-waza-mono, one with the front of the sakaba. The breath left their lungs before the fact that they had been hit even reached their brains. The most either of them could manage was a startled gasp, and those were lost in the folds of their clothing as they collapsed like wet rags.  
  
Moments later, Soujiro was inside the gatehouse. The upper level had only two more soldiers in it, both of which became instant target practice. One actually managed to get his sword halfway out of its sheath, though. Soujiro made a mental note to be more careful next time. He was getting soft.  
  
He was already opening the door on the far side of the gatehouse before the two unconscious soldiers had even hit the floor. That was a failing of too many of the best samurai he had ever seen--they always seemed to want to stop and admire their work. The only men Soujiro had ever met who were capable of moving on after a strike the way he did had been Shishio and Usui. On the other hand, both of those were dead. That was a disquietingly morbid thought.  
  
Apparently, he had not been quiet enough, or the guard outside had somehow sensed that something was amiss. There was only one, but he not only had a pistol drawn, but he also had a whistle already to his mouth. He blew it as soon as Soujiro came into view; the burst was cut abruptly short, but the damage had been done. The only shot the guard managed soared harmlessly into the stratosphere, as his arm was jerked upward as Soujiro knocked him backwards with the sakaba on his way by. Whistles began sounding and officers began shouting in the gatehouse behind him. Of course, by the time all the guards had drawn their weapons, Soujiro was already a long way south along the wall. The guards gave him even more time than necessary by preparing for an attack from the town for a few moments before they realized that none was coming.  
  
As soon as Soujiro reached the point on the parapet where the mountain stream flowed into the base of the wall, he stopped for a quick breath. He smiled inwardly for a moment. He hated to admit it, but he had enjoyed that. Using a sakaba meant he could be a little less restrained and still not kill the guards; he was still not sure how well he was taking to Himura's pacifistic ways, but the sakaba was definitely a help. It also kept him alert, which could help keep him from getting rusty or complacent down the road. He could see why Himura was so attached to his. And the fun part was that, since he had not killed them, he could do it all over again on the way back.  
  
*OK,* he thought sardonically, *Maybe I'm not COMPLETELY pacifistic. But they started it.*  
  
He actually laughed softly as he vaulted over the outside edge of the wall and into the waiting waters below. He wondered what Yumi would have thought of that. She would never have believed that he hadn't killed them in the first place, of course, so she probably wouldn't have known what to say. ShiShiO probably would have broken the sakaba sword the moment he saw it.  
  
The stream was not as deep as it looked, but Soujiro was light, and he knew how to break falls, even in the water. He had leapt from worse heights before. The water was colder than it looked, though, too. Fortunately, it was getting on into the summertime, so it was not frigid, even coming out of the mountains, and the summertime air outside was still fairly warm. Part of the reason he had come north for the summer was to avoid the sweltering heat of the plains to the south, but he was neither that far north nor that high into the mountains yet.   
  
Soujiro quickly clambered out of the stream on the far side and started flitting up the rocky slopes into the canyon that led to Yamashina's iron mines. The breeze out of the mountains was chilly, but it was far from arctic, and it was dry. Soujiro figured that his clothes would be dry again long before he reached the mines, and cold had never seemed to bother him that much. He had never slept by a fireside twice in the same week as a child. The bitter cold of the night had become a part of him long before he had been old enough to realize exactly how cold that was.  
  
He was already half a mile up the canyon before any torches even began to fan out from the gatehouse he had left behind. He was making good time, but they were still moving slower than they probably should. They were probably still trying to make sense of what had happened to them. Either that, or they were afraid he was still somewhere close by to them. Unlike them, he was not carrying torches to announce his presence.  
  
It took him less than two hours to reach the iron mines. He was making good time; the road was empty, and though it was after nightfall, the cloud cover had parted, and the lights of the nocturnal sky were all he needed to find his footing. In addition, it wasn't as if the mines were hidden or anything; as soon as the canyon began to narrow, he began to hear the echoes from the miners' work dancing down the canyon walls to meet him. Furthermore, the road led right to the mines. It turned out to me more a question of which road to take, because at a certain point, the road began to split and head off to lesser mineshafts secluded in the rocks some distance away on either side of the road, close to the canyon walls. It was not that difficult to tell which road was the main one, however, and for lack of better direction, Soujiro decided to stick with the main road for now.  
  
Soon afterwards, Soujiro came into sight of what had to be the main mine entrance. The canyon ended suddenly in a steep, rocky slope, the top of which was nearly high enough to be considered outside the foothills. The mountain stream eddied forth from an opening high in the stone slope; it was not quite a waterfall, because the canyon's end was not quite vertical, but it was close enough. The bottom of the cataract had been hollowed out, apparently partly by men and partly by nature, to form a large pool up against the bottom of the incline. And on the north side of the pool, the main road ended in a large, gaping hole into the hillside. Enough fires burned around it to call it to Soujiro's attention long before he was close enough to make out the details of the cataract. In fact, there was practically a small village around the mine entrance. Actually, it was more like a military camp.  
  
As Soujiro got closer, he was able to make out at least a dozen buildings, one of which was almost as big as Yamashina Ironworks back in Ichibou. It was probably a smelting center, where the iron was extracted from the raw ore. Two of the others were probably barracks, and two more were probably warehouses, if the number of supply wagons at their immense doors said anything. The others, though, had to be prison buildings. They were surrounded by a high wooden stockade and guarded even at this hour, when most of their inhabitants were probably being put to work in the mines. Soujiro's blood began to simmer again at the thought, but he forced the heat down.  
  
There were guards at the perimeter of the mining camp, but he realized with a start as he got closer that they were barely paying him any attention at all. Their primary purpose, he realized, was not to keep hostile people out, but to keep them in. If those prison buildings were full, then there were probably over a hundred people here that didn't really want to be.  
  
Eventually, they noticed him, but Soujiro was not really making any pretense at hiding. A small shout went up, but Soujiro made no move at drawing his sword yet. There were only eight or so this far out, but there were more closer to the camp. He guessed that these guards were more runners than fighters; there were four horses picketed nearby, a short distance off the road. If a riot ensued among the camp prisoners, they would be sent to get reinforcements from among the guards at the other shafts Soujiro had passed, while the guards further in did what they could to contain them.  
  
"Konnichiha!" Soujiro called. He decided to take a gamble. "Anou ..." He was going to have to swallow his pride for a moment, but he made a mental note to collect the bill for it later. "Is this the way to find Genji-sama? This is my first time in the mountains." Emotions or no emotions, he almost choked over the "sama."  
  
The guards relaxed slightly. "Messenger, huh?" said one.  
  
"Must be from Senkaku. He always sends little boys," said another.  
  
"Hai," Soujiro agreed quickly, not wanting to start a fight. Yet.  
  
Those guards that had slid their swords partly free of their scabbards replaced them. "He should be somewhere around the mine entrance."  
  
"And watch your step, kid," one of the others added. "He just got here a couple of hours ago, and he looked pissed as hell over something. Just watch what you say."  
  
"Arigatou," Soujiro said as he continued on. *I hadn't planned on doing much talking, anyway,* he thought as he continued through the denser inner circle of guards a few hundred feet further away. None of them seemed to take any notice of him. Incoming traffic was not their responsibility, and Soujiro kept his face low, to prevent anyone from getting too good a look at his face. He still thought it odd that no one asked more questions than they did, and no one seemed to take any notice of his swords, but he decided to take what he was given. It was going to turn interesting if they had a trap planned for him.  
  
*I hope they try something,* he found himself saying to himself. ShiShiO had developed a special affinity for escaping traps after surviving the betrayal by his former employers. He had whittled it down to both a science and an art, and had passed much of that affinity along to Soujiro. ShiShiO had knowingly walked into traps dozens of times since that fiery night, enjoying the satisfaction of catching the spiders in their own webs.  
  
As Soujiro drew further and further into the camp, there came to be more and more guards. There had to be at least sixty of them all told. He stayed in the deepest patches of shadow that he could find, but he was trusting more to the darkness of night and to keeping his distance from the roaming soldiers than actually hiding. There wasn't much good cover here. It had probably been cleared and flattened as much as possible as soon as a prison had been erected in the area.  
  
Soujiro took a route that led around the rear of the stockade around the prison buildings. There were simply too many guards at the front. At least half of the guards in the camp were either stationed at the front gate of the prison complex, or were within sight of it. Even more were within hearing. There were no egresses from within the camp in the back, so it was much less watched. He could hear the voiceless sounds of people suffering inside, but he could not afford to blindly rush in and reveal his presence. He would probably only succeed in getting a lot of people hurt, excluding the ones that he intended to hurt himself. The only guards that could see him now were those that were a good way off and protecting other places that just happened to be within sight. There weren't more than three, save for those at the mine entrance itself, and he didn't stand out at this distance.  
  
The entrance to the mine was less than three hundred yards away now, and Soujiro had a good look at it. He was cloaked in the shadow of the wall, so they had absolutely no chance of seeing him. However, he could not make out any sign of Genji, either. He might not be able to pick out the man's face at this distance, but he should have been able to pick out something simply by the way people would act around him. He was some kind of captain, after all.  
  
Suddenly, from on the other side of the prison complex wall, Soujiro heard the sound of people shouting, and heard a familiar voice cry out in pain and defiance.  
  
"Bastard!" the voice rang out. "Don't you ever come this close to me again! Guards or no guards, I'll keep your spleen as a trophy!" The tirade was cut off in a muffled grunt, accompanied by the sounds of several men laughing.  
  
"Ukita-san!" Soujiro's eyes widened. Then they narrowed again. "OK, plan's changed," he hissed to himself, coiling himself and drving himself upward into the starry darkness.  
  
He could have cleared the stockade, but he chose not to; he landed softly on top of it, his feet settling effortlessly between the wooden spikes on top of it as though it were a polished wooden floor. His eyes quickly came to rest on two figures twenty feet apart, one of them being held upright by two burly men on either side of him. Ukita had taken a beating, that was plain, but the fire in his eyes was as bright as ever. Standing across from him him was the half-crazed Shinsen reject that had so recently and unexpectedly burst his way free of the town hall.  
  
Soujiro was glad he had taken the short stop on the top of the stockade. That allowed him to add that much extra height to his next jump, and to line it up correctly.  
  
He did not jump straight for Genji, though he dearly wanted to. However, he was not that incautious, and he had not practiced attacking from high in the air nearly as much as the Battousai had. His aerial attack was nowhere near the strength of the Ryu Tsui Sen. He was used to jump attacks off of walls, but not coming straight down at opponents' heads. So he wasn't about to risk it on Genji. On the other hand, the four men holding Ukita were another matter.  
  
Soujiro was at least two and a half times the height of the wall off the ground before he began his downward plunge.  
  
"Aoi Denkou Ryu," he called as he closed in on them. "Go Gufuu-no-Batsu!" (1)  
  
They looked up at the last minute, but all they ever saw was a dark sihouette plunging straight for them, seeming to come straight out of the moon. Two of them fell immediately, and the impact jarred Ukita loose from the hands of his captors. Ukita went sprawling, and his left arm was roughed up a little bit, but Soujiro had a feeling that he didn't mind, and if he hadn't knocked the man away, one of the other guards might have put a blade into the blacksmith's ribs. The two other men that had been holding him were knocked back, but stayed on their feet.  
  
"Ukita-san!" Soujiro called as the ex-Ishin began to pick himself up off the ground. "Catch!" Still on his hands and knees at the time, Ukita managed to get one hand into the air long enough to catch what Soujiro had sent in his direction. His eyes widened, and he gasped.  
  
"Oh-waza-mono ...?" he whispered, almost reverently.  
  
Soujiro was not in a sentimental mood at the moment, however, and his attention was already turning to Genji. "You take those two!" Soujiro shouted at the blacksmith. He squared himself to face Genji. "This one's mine."  
  
  
*****  
  
  
CHAPTER 11:  
ANGERING THE TENKEN  
  
Genji slid his sword free of its sheath with an almost maniacal grin. "You've got guts, boy." He raised his sword in Soujiro's direction, adopting an offensive stance. "Let's see what they look like." There was no more posturing or wordplay. With those words, Genji lunged to the attack.  
  
Soujiro dodged the first thrust and parried the second, but they kept coming. Soujiro's eyes widened. It was six strokes into the fight before the man finally left an opening. Darts weren't the only weapon he had mastered. Even the opening he left wasn't that much; all he allowed Soujiro to do was jam Genji's sword downward, bruising his wrist. It made the man a little more cautious, though.  
  
"Well well," he sneered. "You're not as weak as you look."  
  
"Arigatou," Soujiro answered.  
  
Genji lunged at him again, and once again another furious flurry of blows followed before Soujiro could get in a lick. This time he got a little better of an opening, but Genji was quicker than he looked; what should have been a hard crack on the back of Genji's left thigh turned into a minor scratch. Genji was clearly annoyed that none of his shots were getting through; Soujiro simply smiled and let the irritation build. Soujiro was moving just fast enough to keep away from Genji's sword. He didn't want to give Genji a chance to rest, and if the man thought that he almost had him, he wouldn't back down to catch a breath. Eventually, he would make a mistake, or if he did back down, it would mean that he needed a breath--and then Soujiro could become a little more aggressive.  
  
Genji was using a rare style that Soujiro had never seen in action before; he was certain he had heard of it somehow, because it looked familiar somehow, but he usually remembered the fighting styles of just about any skilled fighters he had ever fought, and this one was not something he had faced in person before. Soujiro was somewhat puzzled by it, but it was not the time for thinking now.  
  
Several more quick bouts followed, usually ending with Soujiro scoring a minor scrape or bruise on Genji before the other readjusted. The best he managed was a crash on Genji's upper arm, where he caught Genji's sword with his own and pushed it into the man's shoulder.  
  
Eventually, Genji pulled back, but his breathing did not seem out of control yet. Frustration was beginning to boil in his eyes now, but there was a crafty glint in those orbs as well. *He's not out of tricks yet,* Soujiro thought. Quickly, Soujiro pressed and darted back into the fray, not wanting to give him any opportunity to bring any of those darts to bear, if that was what he was hiding.  
  
Genji backed down before Soujiro's attack, noticeably more defensive now than earlier. He had not lost any confidence, however, and Soujiro did not buy into it as a defensive stand by a wearying warrior. Sure enough, moments later, he was validated.  
  
Soujiro pounced when Genji apparently gave him an opening, sending the man reeling back. His arms apparently flew up above his head to steady himself. At the last second before Soujiro would have moved in for a finishing blow, he pulled back. Suddenly, Genji's blade came at Soujiro again, from behind his head ... and in his left hand. Soujiro pulled back even more and twisted his sword around to block the blow, and succeeded in stopping the man from driving the blade through his shoulder, but nonetheless suffered a small incision just below his right shoulder.  
  
Soujiro flinched, and cursed himself for not reading the man better, but he did not intend to miss this opening. This was the real opening in the Kouji no Jutsu (2). He had Genji caught with his sword in his left hand and his arm overextended. Since he was already in close and underneath Genji, he simply slipped in and drove the hilt of his sword into Genji's armpit; it was too close range for work with the blade itself. He was not finished, however. At the same time, he planted his left foot in Genji's stomach and spun himself skyward. His right foot came up and clocked the Shinsen reject hard under the chin. Genji staggered backwards and almost fell on his back; he caught himself with one hand and quickly clambered back to his feet, returning his sword to its proper hand.  
  
"Where's Young-eun?" Soujiro demanded.  
  
Genji snarled a string of choice obscenities at him that reminded Soujiro of his former Ju Pon Gattana comrade, Cho. As he did, he quickly set himself into the familiar stance of the Gatotsu. Soujiro deliberately gave him his most innocent expression, as though he had no idea what was coming. If the man was determined to be thickheaded, Soujiro wasn't about to stop him.  
  
"You're dead, Seta!" Genji shouted as he lunged.  
  
The man was clearly trying to do his best imitation of Saitoh, and the man was fairly quick, but he was far out of control as he closed on Soujiro, and his momentum would not allow him to change direction. Almost contemptuously, Soujiro stepped to the inside the attack and parried it outward; at the same time, he simply raised his sheath in front of him and held it there. Genji was going too fast to stop, and the tip of the sheath crashed straight into Genji's nose. Genji's feet flew out from under him, and he crashed to the earth.  
  
Soujiro actually grinned. "No wonder they wouldn't let you in," he laughed.  
  
Once again, he knew he had pushed the right button. Genji let out a terrifying howl of anger, and threw himself off the ground at Soujiro. Even from a prone position, the strength behind the attack was so fierce that it knocked Soujiro back a stride, though there was no danger of it connecting; it was a wild shot, and Soujiro was more than ready for it.  
  
Genji was on his feet again, and the anger was so visible in his eyes that they practically glowed red. "I don't know who you are, or why Yamashina wanted you dead the moment he heard your name, but if you have such a deathwish anyway, I'll be happy to oblige." His eyes blazed in anger.  
  
Suddenly, Soujiro felt a stiffness coming over his limbs. He tried to move into action, but found that he was only going slower than most normal soldiers. The sudden stiffness brought his focus out of the fight enough to realize that there were even more soldiers in the prison complex yard now, and that only half weere standing around to watch the fight. The rest were pursuing Ukita, though the man looked as if he could actually handle himself against the group. He had backed into a doorway where they could only come at him from the front, and at most two at a time, but he had trapped himslf by doing so. Soujiro swore an inward oath. At first, he thought that Genji had somehow slipped a poison dart into him in the thick of the fighting and that he had somehow missed it. Then it dawned on him that this attack wasn't physical in the slightest, and his eyes widened in surprise. That blaze in Genji's eyes right before the stiffness came ...  
  
Genji was already in the Gatotsu stance again, and a maniacal grin split his face. "Poor, pathetic boy," he chuckled evilly. "It's a shame, though. I would have liked for you to be alive when I sink my hands into that soft flesh of hers. As soon as Yamashina-sama's done with her, of course. Of course, I'll probably be a little rougher than him. Do you think she likes it that way?"  
  
For the second time this month, raw anger burned its way to the surface of Soujiro's mind. With a burst of passion and rage, Soujiro shook off the stiffness that had settled over him. A scream of anger burst loose from his mouth. More than that, it burst loose from his heart. So much for fighting in silence. Genji lunged with the Gatotsu, but it was too late.  
  
Suddenly, however, Genji propelled himself to one side in mid-attack. Soujiro quickly turned in that direction, wondering what on earth the man was doing; he had actually put more distance between himself and Soujiro, and he skidded to a stop when he landed. Soujiro puzzled over that for a moment. It took an incredible amount of effort to break off the Gatotsu early, and Soujiro was less ready for that one than for the last one. Nonetheless, Soujiro did not counterattack. He was still wondering about the last attack Genji had used. Things were starting to come into focus. The off-hand attack. The partial insanity. And the attack of pure spirit. Not just everyone could use that technique.  
  
"Shin no Ippou," Soujiro breathed wonderingly. "Your cousin ... the loose cannon ... you're Udo Jin-e's cousin!"  
  
Meanwhile, Genji was almost beside himself with both frustration and amazement. He set himself coldly into the second stance of the Gatotsu, but he did not lunge yet. "Of course," he grated. "I was at least as good as he was, even being five years younger, but they took him and not me. I worked as hard as I could ever since I was seven to be one of them, and they turned me down because of someone I barely knew."  
  
"Your techniques are almost the same," Soujiro noted.  
  
"We had the same sensei in Kyoto," Genji replied, "but we never attended the same classes. That was until Jin-e killed him, of course. He thought that sensei was teaching me secrets that he never revealed to him, and that was enough for a death sentence. He couldn't accept the fact that I just learned faster, and worked harder."  
  
"But they turned you away because of him anyway," Soujiro ended. *No wonder he's pissed,* he thought to himself.  
  
"You're getting the idea," Genji responded. "But I've talked enough. That aura won't hold me back this time." With that, he sprang at Soujiro again, trying the second stance of the Gatotsu. Nonetheless, Soujiro was so out of focus for a moment that he almost didn't get set for his counter. *Aura?* he thought as he flowed into motion.   
  
Soujiro had seen Genji's technique before, though, and ShiShiO had taught him how to counter all of them. ShiShiO had fought more than plenty of the Shinsen Gumi during the Bakumatsu, and had seen almost every trick in their books. Of course, as he was fond of saying, they didn't have many.  
  
The secret of the Gatotsu's second stance was the changing angle of the attack, which made it difficult to block successfully, because it could slip around all but the best of parries. Soujiro knew that ShiShiO could stop it cold, but Soujiro had a different counter, drawing on the Shuku-chi. It was time to let that out of the bag, anyway. The man was clearly running out of tricks. Soujiro blurred into action, nearly fading from sight as he blocked the blow. He actually parried the lethal thrust twice in the same instant, once to trigger the change of direction, and once to use that change to throw Genji off-balance and spin him away. Soujiro was surprised that the man even stayed on his feet, but it was plain that Soujiro had disoriented him, at least for a moment. Of course, since Soujiro had not set himself completely correctly for the attack, it took him a precious moment to regain his balance as well, or he could have stepped in for a counterattack there. Nonetheless, it was clear that Genji had taken the worse of the exchange.  
  
"Tenken Ryu," Soujiro announced coldly. "Meimei Shubi." (3)  
  
"Tenken Ryu, eh?" Genji growled. "You fight with two different styles? What's the difference between the Tenken Ryu and your Blue Lightning Style?" (4)  
  
An emotionless smile crept across Soujiro's face. "I thought you'd never ask," he said, as he slid the sakaba back into its sheath and adopted the Battou stance.  
  
"So you want to get serious," Genji answered with a wicked grin. "Getting angry are we?"  
  
"No," Soujiro answered calmly. "Getting tired."  
  
The anger welled up in Genji's eyes again. "Then I'll be happy to put you to sleep, Seta," he snarled, readying his sword to attack again.  
  
Soujiro closed his eyes for a moment. He would know if Genji sprang at him, but he needed to clear his mind. The last time he had tried this, he had ended up flying through the air, complements of the Battousai's succession technique. The Battousai's words before that final blow came back to him.  
  
"Yes, very fitting," he heard Himura-san say. "It deserves the name. But can you do it with your emotions in turmoil?" Himura-san had then proved that he couldn't. But Soujiro was wiser now. Furthermore, Genji was not the Battousai. And he had just pissed off the Tenken.  
  
Soujiro called up memories of the previous evening, the evening with Young-eun on the roof of the blacksmith's home. He had felt awkward there, but he had also been calm. Even with the guard on his emotions partially down, he had been calm. That was what he needed here. The anger slowly faded into the back of his mind, and his muscles relaxed.  
  
"You've been a worthy opponent, Seta Soujiro," Genji called. "One of the best I've ever faced. But you'll have to be more than good to survive the Nikaido Heiho succession technique." He shifted his stance forward slightly, and his sword dipped aggressively. "Kaiten Hadou!" (5) He was moving forward as soon as the last word crossed his lips.  
  
Soujiro felt the grip of the Shin no Ippou clench at him again, but this time he was ready for it, and he shook it off with a furious cry. Too late, Genji realized that the Kaiten Hadou had been compromised.  
  
"Shun," Soujiro hissed as he dipped into the Battou stance again and planted his foot behind him.  
  
"Ten," he cried as vanished from human eyes, unleashing the full speed of the Shuku-chi to crush the distance between him and the samurai Genji, who was already helplessly off the ground and in the midst of his rotating attack, his back to Soujiro.  
  
"Satsu!" he cried as he struck.  
  
The Shun Ten Satsu did not normally have the upward force nor the impact that Himura's Ama-Kakeru, Ryu-no-Hirameki did, but Genji was already in the air. Thus, what should have been a powerful upward slash into a more balanced opponent's chest instead crashed into the base of Genji's spine while the man was in midair.  
  
The result looked almost exactly like Soujiro had just pulled the Ama-Kakeru, Ryu-no-Hirameki himself. Genji went flying and tumbling high over Soujiro's shoulder with a loud groan. His sword flew from his grasp, and Soujiro quickly kicked it away in the opposite direction.  
  
Only then did the guards that had been gathering reenter Soujiro's awareness. They had been standing clear of the battle, terrified to step in. They did not seem to be any more daring even now, and when Soujiro readied his sword for battle again, at least half of them backed up a step, though.  
  
The sounds of fighting still rang out in the yard, however, as Ukita Shimiro still held on for his life in the doorway of the tiny storage shed in corner of the yard. Soujiro was impressed; no fewer than seven guards lay either dead or wounded around the door. Soujiro could see that Ukita had not had as easy a time of it as he or Himura-san would have. He was both getting tired and fighting hurt.  
  
Immediately, Soujiro charged the circle of guards, and they gave way before him. A moment later, he was upon the guards still clustered around the door of the storage shed; there were only five of them left by this point, and only one of them looked back in time to see him.  
  
Shots began to ring out behind him by the time he got to the fifth and last of Ukita's remaining assailants.  
  
"Can you run?" Soujiro asked.  
  
A renewed spirit entered Ukita's eyes. Soujiro guessed that the man had to have been pretty good in his youth; now that he had been fighting for a little bit, his long-dormant battle aura was beginning to make itself known again. There was still fire behind those eyes.  
  
"Can I run? Why run when you can fly?" he asked, stepping forward, turning, and springing onto the roof of the storage shed. From there, he turned and sprang up and over the wall. Soujiro hoped that he knew how far down it was on the other side, but Soujiro wasted no time in following. Shots rang and ricocheted off the stones around him, but none found their mark; one came close, tearing through the bottom of his sleeve, but none bit flesh.  
  
Soujiro landed only inches from Ukita.  
  
"Easy, lad," the samurai replied. Soujiro made a mental note that he would try not to think of him as a blacksmith anymore, regardless of whether he was holding a sword or a hammer.  
  
"Where is she?" Soujiro asked.  
  
Ukita was already running towards the perimeter of the came. "Come on!" he shouted.  
  
"Wait!" Soujiro cried. "We can't leave her here!"  
  
"She's not here!" Ukita called back. "She's with him!"  
  
Soujiro understood. Genji had said something along the same lines, and Soujiro had somewhat suspected that she would not have been sent to the mines, or at least not kept there. Yamashina had shown too much interest in her to be after a mine worker. If what Genji had said was true ... angrily, he pushed the thought away, allowing his emotions to fade into the silence of his inner consciousness again.  
  
Soujiro desperately wanted to push the pace, but Ukita was going as fast as he could, and Ukita had taken far worse of a beating than Soujiro had. Almost of the guards had converged on the prison complex, however, so the perimeter was nearly unguarded. The only guards remaining were the four with horses, who would be sent in the incident of a major riot.  
  
"Can you ride a horse?" Soujiro asked as they drew near to the remaining guards. They had come forward from their horses slightly, their weapons drawn, sensing that something was amiss but not realizing exactly who the two people coming toward them were.  
  
"Of course," Ukita replied. Soujiro was a little offended by that. What did he mean, of course? No one had ever taught him to ride. That was the one thing ShiShiO knew that he refused to teach Soujiro. ShiShiO himself only rode because he would never expect Yumi to walk, and because the effort of walking irritated his burns. He had never ridden during his days with the Ishin Shishi.  
  
Soujiro decided to worry about that later. Quickly, he dispatched the guards around the picketed horses, and then quickly cut the lines of the one horse that seemed to be taking all of the fighting around him in stride. The other three were clearly getting agitated. Of course, even the last one seemed to get a little antsy when Soujiro started swinging his sword around near his throat.  
  
"Here, let me handle him," Ukita offered, and Soujiro quickly backed away. Within moments, Ukita was mounted, and though the horse whickered uneasily under him, it made no move to pitch him off. "Come on," Ukita said, offering Soujiro a hand.  
  
Soujiro shook his head. "I'll keep up, trust me." Ukita looked at him askance.  
  
"If there's trouble, I need to be on the ground," Soujiro replied. "I can't fight from horseback."  
  
"OK, but if I start going too fast, just give me a yell."  
  
Soujiro actually laughed. He did not believe there was any such thing as too fast. "Same to you," he answered lightly as he took off down the rocky canyon road.  
  
Soujiro and Ukita's horse kept slowing down and speeding up until eventually they managed to get in sync with one another at a brisk trot. Soujiro could have gone faster, but he didn't want to risk the horse getting either tired or injured, and he wanted enough breath to talk as he ran.  
  
"What happened?" he asked as soon as he was comfortably able.  
  
"They brought us both here," Ukita answered. "But then they separated us, and I didn't see her until she was leaving. Yamashina came to pick her up himself. I only got to see her from a distance, and the only thing she got to say to me before they took her away was, 'I'm sorry.' She didn't even sound like she meant it, though."  
  
"Nani?!" (6)  
  
"Not like that!" Ukita called back earnestly. "I mean, she didn't sound like anything. It was like an icicle talking."  
  
*Like a star,* Soujiro thought to himself.  
  
"I mean no offense, but you probably didn't help, either."  
  
"Sumimasen?" Soujiro answered, though he guessed that he knew what Ukita was about to say, and he was right.  
  
"You got through to her," Ukita answered. "If things had gone any other way, I could have thanked you for that more than anything I've been grateful for since my wife was alive. But when they came that night, she was more vulnerable than she had been in years. They came only minutes after you left. I didn't get a chance to talk to her much after that, but I think the strain ... I think something snapped in her. I don't know. I don't know how to explain it."  
  
"I think I may know what you're talking about," Soujiro answered. His tone was neutral, even light, but his mood was grim. He had hurt, even killed, a lot of people, but he had never before hurt someone that he had not intended to get hurt. Soujiro wondered if Himura-san's life was ever this complex. If this was part of a rurouni's job description, Soujiro was already thinking about early retirement.  
  
However, he had gotten her into this, so it was his responsibility to get her out. That much he was sure of; that much came from both ShiShiO and Himura. The idea of leaving a job unfinished would have infuriated ShiShiO to his very core. "If you start it, finish it," ShiShiO was fond of saying. "The pathetic government is full of people who start things and never finish them, leaving the country to clean up their mess." Himura would have simply said that Young-eun-chan needed protection. As Himura's friend had burst out at ShiShiO's headquarters, Himura had made it his life's mission to protect the weak and helpless.  
  
That was all very well ... Soujiro had not entirely bought into Himura's protective philosophy, but he was starting to understand it, at least ... but the thought triggered another thought in the back of Soujiro's mind. The weak and helpless.  
  
His mind drifted back to that long-ago rainy night when everything had collapsed for him. Soujiro had been been in a state of almost continual depression, deprived of food or sleep or warmth night in and night out. Then a new face had appeared in his life, a man whose words gave him a faint spark of hope, a hope of being strong someday. Less than a day later, Soujiro's family had tried to kill him. Soujiro had put up with a lot of abuse from them over the years, and had become used to them hurting him. He had known that they were not nice people. Nevertheless, the trauma of someone actually wanting to kill him was simply too much for someone so young. Before ShiShiO had arrived, Soujiro might have simply laid down and died. He had never attached much importance to his own life. But ShiShiO had given him just the faintest spark of a dream for the future. So Soujiro had not given up, not so soon after allowing a small spark to bloom inside himself. Instead, he had ... as Ukita put it ... snapped.  
  
Soujiro was not a complete idiot, nor did he completely forget the past. Physically, Young-eun had been conditioned by long hours of work at multiple jobs, one of them in a blacksmith's smithy. Emotionally, she had suffered over many years; he had not suffered completely alone in the way that Soujiro had, but Ukita was apparently her only support, and Young-eun constantly had to watch him getting weaker and weaker, wondering when her last support would crumble. Mentally, she had clearly been feeling depressed and withdrawn from society; even at the Red House, the people who made lewd remarks about her somehow felt pushed away from her if they ever sought to approach her. She had not had a friend to her house in years. And Soujiro had just recently entered her life and given her a chance to hope, had put fuel in the fireplace, so to speak. Less than a day later, her worst fears were realized, and at the one moment when she had felt better than she had in years.  
  
It had not been the inspirational sword master that had done the killing that rainy night, however. ShiShiO had simply stood back and watched. It had been a smiling eight-year-old boy. The result had been a cadre of bodies staring lifelessly at the stormy sky, and one little boy still standing with a wakizashi in his little hand. The result had been the birth of the Tenken.  
  
As Soujiro trotted on alongside the blacksmith's mount, he kept casting looks at the diamonds of the night sky. Cold. Distant. Dark. An uneasiness began to grow in the back of his mind, a feeling that the girl he intended to rescue from the Yakuza overlord might not be anyone he knew.  
  
*****  
  
  
(1) Attack of the Cold Hurricane  
(2) Lure Technique  
(3) Invisible Defense  
(4) Aoi Denkou Ryu  
(5) Whirling Burst  
(6) What?!  
  
  
COMING SOON: Chapter 12, "The Stronghold," and Chapter 13, "Past and Passion." As before, this is a tentative itenerary, and I'm not completely sure how and where I want to end this, but the end is indeed approaching.  
  
My sincerest apologies for how late this is in coming! I wrote the first five installments in less time than it took me to write this one from the last, but college is starting to keep me very busy. I promise I'll get it finished, though.  
  
Ukita is in no position to help in penetrating Yamashina's palace, so Soujiro will enter Yamashina's inner demesne alone. Fortunately, Young-eun is not that difficult to find; unfortunately, Yamashina doesn't exactly feel like letting her go. Yamashina's bag of surprises is nearly limitless, and his fighting style is unique and powerful. Furthermore, Yamashina knows a lot more about Soujiro than Soujiro knows about him. Yamashina and Soujiro have more in common than Soujiro would have guessed.  
  
(Don't worry, I'm not going to have Yamashina turn out to be Soujiro's real father or some sappy slop like that.)  
  
Thanks to everyone who read & reviewed any/all of the first five installments! I'm glad that people are showing a little interest in my work, and I hope to hear your thoughts on this section as well! Thanks for waiting! Viva Soujiro!! 


	7. Chapters 12 & 13

DISCLAIMER: We both know I don't own Soujiro, ShiShiO, Kenshin, Senkaku, or any of the other characters that are making Watsuki Nobuhiro and his corporate sponsors/affiliates rich. If I did, I wouldn't be living in a measly four-person dorm room and praying that I can finish my freshman year of college without a nervous breakdown. I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. If not ... chikushou, aku baka!  
That reminds me ... my Japanese is next to nonexistent. Don't fault me for it. At least I'm trying.  
Happy reading!  
  
ANTI-DISCLAIMER (would that be just a "claimer?"): Some of these characters ARE my own creation, as well as many elements of the setting; the town of Ichibou, Kim Young-eun, Karachi Hoebu, Yamashina Ito, and several other minor characters are my own ideas. Use your head. If it never appeared in anywhere in the Kenshin series, then it's probably mine. Not that anyone cares but me.  
  
SPOILERS/BACKGROUND: To Kenshin TV ep 61, "Remaining Ju Pon Gattana, Choice of Life."  
  
*****  
  
  
CHAPTER 12:  
THE CHALLENGE  
  
"More trouble?!" Ukita asked in amazement as the torches of the town guards came into view in the distance. "You really know how to stir up a hornet's nest, boy!"  
  
"Anou ..." Soujiro replied uneasily. He had not thought this far ahead when he vanished from the gatehouse only hours earlier.  
  
"Oh, never mind," Ukita growled. "Come on, maybe we can make it work for us."  
  
Ukita was already off his horse and leading it into the concealment of the rough, broken rocks along the north side of the road. Soujiro quickly saw what Ukita was getting at, and promptly took cover with the older samurai.  
  
It did not take long for the torch-bearing guards to reach the place where Soujiro and Ukita lay concealed, but Soujiro counted every second like it was an hour. ShiShiO would have been very disappointed in him, he knew. ShiShiO had always said that the person who lost his patience lost his life, but he had never had to say that to Soujiro. Soujiro simply focused on remaining still and allowing the guards to pass without an inkling of their presence.  
  
Ukita was having a harder time of it, not for himself, but for his horse. Fortunately, the horse was not a very restive or fiery animal, and Ukita seemed to have acquired some skill with horses at some point in the past. However, trying to keep a horse completely still and noiseless took a lot of effort and a little luck. Fortunately, the guard patrol was fairly noisy itself. Soujiro was glad of that. He did not have time for another unnecessary, drawn-out fight, and there were more than seventy men in the patrol. They must have sent for reinforcements before they left the gate, though Soujiro had no idea where they might have gotten them from.  
  
As the last of the patrol passed by, Ukita suddenly turned to Soujiro and lofted the sheathed Oh-waza-mono blade in Soujiro's direction. Startled, Soujiro snatched it out of the air, but turned a puzzled expression on the samurai he had just rescued. Ukita simply nodded his head in the direction of Ichibou.  
  
"Go," Ukita hissed. "It'll be too long before I can leave here with this," he added with a nod towards the horse. "You can be quieter without me. She trusts you, so I guess I can, too."  
  
Soujiro looked at Ukita for another long moment before he smiled. Trust was a rare thing in his line of work, but all the more welcome. He didn't make a big deal of it, though.  
  
"Arig ..."  
  
"Go!" Ukita snapped, as loudly as he dared. Soujiro had vanished from his sight before the sound of the word died.  
  
Unfortunately, the Shuku-chi was purely a sprinting move, and Soujiro could not maintain that quasi-mythical state of motion forever. Even during the fight with Himura, which he had been almost as well-rested and physically well-prepared for as possible, he had needed to take momentary breaks every few seconds. With all the hype about the Shuku-chi among the Ju Pon Gattana, however, people forgot how light he was on his feet in a distance race. He had always been the one sent when ShiShiO needed to send messages to members in remote locations, and he had never needed a horse. ShiShiO had been one of the Ishin ShiShi, and their ability to slip effortlessly and noiselessly through long streches of harsh terrain was not just a rumor. Soujiro had picked it up easily, and he was pushing his limits now.  
  
He slowed somewhat when he came within sight of the gate, but he was right in guessing that the patrol that had passed him had severely drained the number of guards on duty. There looked to be less than a tithe of the number that there had been on Soujiro's way out. They had simply shut the gate, probably barred it from the inside, and were just holed up in their gatehouse with their rifles. Soujiro couldn't see a single one along the parapet.  
  
Soujiro approached the gate without incident, and actually began to grow a little suspicious. He was still out of rifle range for all but the best marksmen, but he expected that he would have seen some sign of activity from the remaining guards by now. Even if they were unsure of where he was at the moment, they had to have seen something moving out here. They had an elevated viewpoint, even higher than the valley floor because of the sharp slope from the gatehouse to the level at which Soujiro stood. Then again, it was dark, and Soujiro was not carrying any form of light.  
  
Suddenly, the faint sound of shouting on the far side of the wall reached Soujiro's ears, and he took cover. He could not hear what was being said, but he recognized the tone of authority. Apparently the guards were not completely leaderless without Genji. The shouting faded a few moments later, however, and Soujiro crept forward again.  
  
Another surprise came a few moments later, when the gates in the wall above him opened wide with a loud creak and a dull boom. Soujiro quickly took cover again, expecting another guard patrol to emerge from the gaping archway. He could see the glow of torchlight from inside the gate, even at this distance. Shortly, a small group of men emerged from the gate, and Soujiro tensed. These were not town guards. The black leather armor revealed them as Yamashina's foot soldiers. It didn't make any practical difference, since Yamashina controlled both forces one way or another, but it was something to note. Soujiro also had not completely known that the town watch and the Yakuza forces worked so openly together. Then again, it was extremely late at night, and the valley and the town were both all but deserted; maybe it wasn't exactly 'open' by most standards.  
  
Suddenly, the black-armored soldier at the front of the tiny squad called brazenly into the crisp night air. "Soujiro!" he cried. "Seta Soujiro! Are you listening?" Soujiro did not react, and stayed hidden in his small rocky crevice, but his eyes narrowed.  
  
"Soujiro!" the man called again. "You can come out! We're not here to fight! I'm just a messenger! And the rest of the guards here are scared shitless of you, anyway!"  
  
While Soujiro had no doubt that the last part of that was true, he was uncertain how that somehow made it reasonable for him to step out of his concealment. Frightened people did unpredictable things, he knew, and some of the guards in that tower probably had guns. Even if they had been ordered not to shoot, well ... frightened people didn't always follow orders, either.  
  
"Soujiro!" the soldier called once more. "I know you're out there somewhere. If you don't trust me, fine! Copies of my message have been left at the blacksmith's house, at your inn, and the East Gate! You'll just end up doing a lot more walking!" With that, the man spun on his heels and strode back through the gate.  
  
Soujiro did not waste any more time after that. He never had the air of being hurried, but the fact was that somehow, Yamashina had anticipated him. In general, people had had even more trouble anticipating him than ShiShiO. It had to be Yamashina. No one else could possibly have had the instincts to feel him out.  
  
As soon as the gate had been closed again, Soujiro darted from his cover again, and picked up his pace. He was beginning to care slightly less about remaining concealed, since part of his cover was already blown. He had already attracted Yamashina's attention.  
  
He could not figure out how Yamashina had taken such a sudden interest in him. He had not been involved with Young-eun that long, and he had entered town as a merchant's guard, nothing more. Come to think of it, the Yakuza had reacted to his presence in Ichibou before he had gotten very involved with Young-eun. The strike at the inn had to be more than routine for them; there was no way they did things like that on a regular basis without attracting either organized resistance or federal investigators. The more he thought about it, the more he was convinced that Yamashina had taken an interest in him as soon as word reached him of Soujiro's presence. Soujiro couldn't imagine why, though. Soujiro had never even heard of Yamashina before he came to Ichibou, and he had never done anything that might have touched or hindered the man's organization. Yamashina and ShiShiO both had ties to the Ishin ShiShi, however, and the internal politics of that group were dark and twisted. Even after his death, ShiShiO's specter hung over the land ... and his surviving proteges.  
  
Soujiro reached the bottom of the slope leading up to the base of the wall within moments, a good way north of the gate. He began to scale the slope, but stopped a few yards up. He looked at the wall that awaited him when he finally did get to the top of the hill. Soujiro was an accomplished climber, and his balance was as sure as anyone in the country, but that wall was going to take some time to scale. He was in a hurry, and he had a better idea. He had never done this before, but he had not felt fear in more than a decade.  
  
He hopped back down to the base of the slope, and searched around until he found a place where the slope was as even as he could find. Keeping his eye on that point on the slope, he backed up several more yards into the rocky valley. Then he crouched forward, tapping his trail foot on the rocky earth.  
  
"Here goes nothing," he breathed to himself. With that, he vanished from human eyes.  
  
Using the Shuku-chi was almost like entering another world. It required absolute crystal clarity of thought, and a level of concentration that did not allow room for any distraction from within. This was one of the reasons that so few fighters, even the best in the world, progressed further than ShiShiO-san and Himura-san's Shinsoku. It had nothing to do with physical conditioning. ShiShio, Himura, even Aoshi and Saitoh, were physically capable of it. Himura had actually achieved it without even knowing it at the climax of their fight at ShiShiO's headquarters. The fact was, however, that the Shuku-chi could be absolutely terrifying to the user. Soujiro's complete repression of his emotions was the only thing that enabled him to use the Shuku-chi on a regular basis. Soujiro got a firsthand reminder of this as he watched the sharp slope rising up from the valley floor seeming to come at him as though fired from a cannon. An eyeblink later, the Tenken altered his stride just enough to let the momentum from his dash carry him up the slope.  
  
He did not stop at the summit, however. Timing his strides with the precision of a champion high jumper, he planted his right foot at the exact point where the slope levelled off, only a few feet from the wall, and leapt. The force of the Shuku-chi propelled him up the slope like a giant ramp, and he leapt out into the sky above.  
  
The valley had been low, and the rough terrain had somewhat sheltered from the mountain wind. Soujiro's leap had propelled him well above that level, however; he cleared the town wall like a wooden fence, and was still on his way up. He didn't start descending until he was across the street on the inside of the wall, and this was when he realized that he had probably put too much force behind his jump. He landed heavily on the far side of the rooftop of the two-story building across the street from the wall, rolling into his landing to absorb the impact. It took everything he had to simply avoid breaking his legs, and he only narrowly avoided falling off the eastern side of the building.  
  
He was glad of the relative darkness; there was moonlight, but not enough to make his silhouette stand out against the midnight blue of the sky unless anyone happened to be directly looking at him as he took off. His landing had been fairly quiet, too, for all of its difficulty; he had probably awoken anyone sleeping on the second floor of the building, but otherwise, he probably hadn't alerted anyone in the neighborhood. He made himself get up, vault to the lower roof of a single-story building to the north of the one he was on, and then drop to the ground. As soon as he found a small stone bench in a well-concealed alley, though, he curled up on it to think.  
  
Soujiro had seldom turned the Shuku-chi loose like that. It took a lot out of him, and it was risky and seldom necessary. Even there, he could have gotten away with two or three steps short of it and still made it up onto the top of the well. Nonetheless, he was glad he had. The mental state of the Shuku-chi had brought him back to himself, and the brief moment of basking in the north wind had brought memories of Young-eun back to him. He realized that he had been beginning to feel distracted again, the way he had when his mind first started to crack against Kenshin. He had not picked up on what was happening to him then, and he was not sure what he would have done ... or if he would have even understood it ... if he had realized what was happening then. Now, however, he knew what was in store for him if he let himself keep breaking down like this. He was letting Yamashina get into his head before he ever even saw the man--not even Kenshin had had that effect.  
  
Thinking of the wind and Young-eun brought back memories of their night on the roof of the blacksmith's house. He had no idea what he was doing thinking about Young-eun at the moment when he was trying to calm his mind, but her image refused to vanish from his mind. Shortly, Soujiro even strengthened the image by climbing softly back up onto the roof of the house he was sitting next to, and allowing the north wind to come rushing down on him again. The wind carried memories of the little Korean girl, but it also cooled his mind, and it helped him to think of her as he wanted to think of her ... the almost ethereal spirit of the north wind that he had seen in her when she was with him on a rooftop like this.  
  
Gradually, the cool wind cleared the distractions from Soujiro's mind. Yamashina, Genji, Senkaku, Ichibou, and everything else slowly disappeared from his mind. Even Young-eun's current plight shrank to a small corner of his awareness.  
  
*Much better,* Soujiro thought to himself as he stood up, hopped down from the low roof, and continued his journey.  
  
There was a reason that Soujiro had chosen that moment to take a quick breather, even though he knew time was of the essence. He was on his way to check out whatever Yamashina had left at the Young-eun's home, and he had a feeling he was not going to like it. He doubted that Yamashina had actually set up a trap for him there, though he would not put it past the man, having never met him; however, that didn't mean that he would like what he found there, or that there would not be more traps later. Nevertheless, Soujiro had no intention of going any further without a clear head. ShiShiO had often emphasized that the Ishin Shishi loved to play mind games with their opponents, before, during, and between fights. Soujiro was really not in the mood for it at the moment, however.  
  
He wound his way southeast through the dim, gloomy streets of Ichibou until he reached Young-eun's street, using the shadows as best he could. The relative lack of streetlamps helped, and he was fairly sure that no one had followed him as he approached the blacksmith's vacated home.  
  
He had planned to enter the house by the rooftop hatch again, but was surprised by the fact that the front door was now unlocked and propped open. Soujiro's eyes narrowed. Yamashina's people had been here since he had last come through, but he could not sense anything in the house. He skirted quickly around and approached the house from the back alley, keeping low to the ground in the samurai's crouching gait. Even as he reached the walls of the house, however, he could detect nothing within, neither sight nor sound nor sixth sense. Eventually, Soujiro made up his mind to go in, and darted out into the street for a brief moment, crossed in front of the building, and slipped quietly into the front door.  
  
Soujiro took the time to light the lantern that had been left hanging by the front door this time. It took him only an instant more to find Yamashina's message. Yamashina's courier had apparently actually told the truth. Lying plainly on the table in the middle of the living room was a large scroll, sealed with a blue wax seal in the stylized emblem of a heron wading through water. Soujiro's eyes narrowed again, and he took one more look around the area before he was convinced he was alone. He broke open the seal and began to read.  
  
*Seta Tenken-no-Soujiro,*  
  
*I am intrigued that such an enigmatic legend has entered my demesne. Somehow, you've managed to convince everyone I've ever talked to who ever served in any position with my old rival, ShiShiO Makoto, that you're one of the most deadly men alive ... and none of them ever even saw you. That kind of reputation with that kind of secrecy is a mark of great pride among us, so I must assume that Makoto taught you well.  
  
*I have been told that you have already beaten Senkaku, and if you are reading this, that most likely means that you have already beaten my lieutenant, Genji Taku as well. Congratulations. I do hope you have stamina left, however, as I do not like waiting.  
  
*I dreamed for more than ten years of confronting ShiShiO myself and proving to us that I did in truth deserve the position which he took from me. Himura-san has denied me that, though he did what was needed. By the old code, you are ShiShiO's successor, thus my challenge now falls to you.  
  
*You will also be concerned with the health of Young-eun-chan. Don't worry. I have no intention of forcing myself on her. Credit me at least with a deeper mind than Senkaku. However, I intend to move her away from my estate very shortly, so if you wish to see her again, it would probably be best if you answered this challenge before long.  
  
*This battle is between you and me now. You will encounter no more resistance from my guards or agents until you reach Heron's Ward, my ancestral seat beyond the ravine to the east. I should have called them off earlier. I did not realize until after you bested Senkaku that you were in truth the Tenken, and for that I apologize.   
  
*My carriage will await you at the East Gate, if you so desire its service; if you do not trust me enough, I take no offense, but I would ask that as a matter of professional courtesy, you spare the life of the driver. I know ShiShiO would behead him and send him back to me as a message; he was always one for dramatic gestures. I sent only one man with the carriage, my family driver who has passed his fifthieth birthday. I even refrained from sending a doorman ... one less person to fear for you, one less person to lose for me.  
  
*I look forward to our meeting. It has been a great while since I faced a challenge, and my blood will be racing in my veins until you arrive.  
  
*Yours in waiting,  
  
*Yamashina Ito of Heron's Ward*  
  
  
*****  
  
  
CHAPTER 13:  
HERON'S WARD  
  
The blacksmith's shop and the street outside were silent save for the rustle of the wind. The single lantern flickered and made shadows dance across the living room, and across the face of its solitary occupant. For a long while, nothing moved but the incessant flicker of the flame within the lantern and stray locks of hair across Soujiro's forehead.  
  
Slowly, Soujiro rolled the message up again and slipped it into his jacket. He then ghosted over to the lantern, cupped his hand behind the wick, and softly extinguished the flame. His expression was soft and innocent, and there was still enough light in the starlit darkness to reveal a boyish, carefree smile on his face.  
  
He turned and strolled back out into the street, and turned his feet eastward. To a casual observer, there would seem to be nothing hurried about his movements at all. He looked for all appearances like he was just out for a walk after midnight; if it weren't for his swords, one might think him just a lost little boy out in the streets at night. He seemed like he almost had no idea where he was, and had no particular goal in mind. Nonetheless, he knew where he was going.  
  
A strange thought occurred to him as he walked along the grimy streets of Ichibou. He had killed more men than just about anyone he knew, but never once had he actually been challenged. He racked his brain for any exceptions, but none came up. His battle with Himura-san was about as close as he could think of a legitimate duel; well, it was, but it had actually been ShiShiO, not Soujiro or Kenshin, that had issued the challenge on the deck of the smitten Ren-goku. Maybe this was just another one of those differences between soldiers and assassins that Yumi had always talked about. Of course, Soujiro had already been heading for Yamashina's manor when he received the challenge, so he imagined they would have ended up fighting anyway. However, the fact that Yamashina had challenged him--and knew so much about him--piqued Soujiro's curiosity. Very few people knew of him, that he knew of.  
  
Soujiro was not sure what he was expecting to see when he arrived at the East Gate, but what he did see was not much of a surprise. The East Gate looked somewhat more decorative and somewhat less fortified than either of the gates on the main road or the Iron Gate. It was still functional, but it did not have the menacing look of the others. It was also propped open, and a carriage stood idly in the plaza in front of the gate, hitched to a team of six horses. There were no guards on the ground outside; Soujiro counted four on the parapet, and probably more hiding within the towers, but he doubted they were there for an ambush. Soujiro stood in the shadows outside the semicircle of streetlamps surrounding the plaza, and briefly pondered what do next.  
  
He had been planning to avoid the gate and decline Yamashina's offer, but he decided against it at the last minute. If it wasn't a trap, then it would get him to Heron's Ward quickly. If it was, well, Soujiro had always enjoyed turning webs back on the spiders that spun them. Besides, on some level, he actually believed that Yamashina intended to see him to Heron's Ward safely. The Ishin ShiShi never gave quarter in battle, but when they made promises, they did not consider them pacts sealed with words. They considered them sealed with blood.  
  
Calmly, Soujiro ghosted out into the circle of light. Nothing happened. His eyes narrowed. They might have at least said hello. He shrugged his shoulders and approached the carriage.  
  
He was halfway across the plaza when the door of the carriage opened and Yamashina's driver stepped out. Yamashina had not been lying; Soujiro could tell when men were faking infirmity or not, and this man was not only clearly past fifty, he might well have been almost sixty. He was bald on the top of his head, and wrinkles creased all parts of his skin that Soujiro could see. He did not have the look of someone who had ever been a soldier.  
  
He did not say anything until Soujiro was almost upon him. "The legendary Seta Soujiro," he said then. His voice definitely sounded old, but it was steady, at least. "I'm honored. Nagata Yasui, at your service." With that, the old man bowed and held the door of the coach for Soujiro to mount the steps.  
  
"Arigatou," (1) Soujiro responded, though he was earnestly scanning the area for traps as he entered the carriage. It took him a moment to realize what was different about the carriage, but he almost laughed when he did. The feel of the floor and sense of weight that the carriage gave off gave it away. The carriage had an inner lining of thick, solid steel underneath the surface of the plush interior. Yamashina had a bulletproof carriage! *No wonder it takes a team of six horses to pull,* Soujiro thought to himself.  
  
Nagata wasted no time in getting the carriage moving. The pace was actually not much faster than Soujiro could have walked, but it was sparing Soujiro's legs, which he guessed he was going to need, and it was a little faster than his walking pace.  
  
Soujiro breathed a little easier once the carriage was safely out of range of the towers, but he did not let his guard down. The terrain was not as broken here as in the gorge to the west, but there were still plenty of places an assassin could hide. The road snaked back and forth as it climbed up a steady slope to the east of Ichibou, until it crested in a small cleft at the height of a slope and plunged down into a ravine. The slope on either side of the cleft kept right on climbing, so whatever was in the ravine was well sheltered from the rest of the world. The general stench of Ichibou and the mines quickly faded as the road ascended as well, which Soujiro noted with a sense of relief.  
  
At the height of the slope, just as the road crested the rise and was about to plunge down into the ravine beyond, Nagata stopped the carriage. "Heron's Ward!" he called. "I know you're in a hurry, and Yamashina-sama doesn't want me to waste time either, but this is a view worth seeing."  
  
Soujiro had never been one for natural scenery or views, but he figured that he might as well oblige the old man; he was just going to end up arguing with him if he didn't. He poked his head out the carriage door cautiously at first, spreading out his awareness to see if he could sense anyone else in the vicinity, and couldn't. He cautiously hopped out of the carriage and looked down on Heron's Ward. His eyes widened. He still wasn't one for natural scenery, but he didn't have to be one to appreciate what he saw.  
  
The ravine widened quickly several hundred feet beyond the cleft where the road went through. The result was a small, forested, sunlit valley, the focal point of which was a palace that looked as though it had been built at the same time the land itself was. It stood on a hill at the far north side of the valley, and a stream flowed out of it through a series of four cascading, terraced water gardens that ringed the palace on its southern, western, and eastern sides. The gardens followed the contours of the landscape and eventually combining into a small crystal lake in the base of the valley. In the rear of the palace, a waterfall fell straight into the courtyard from the mountains above, forming the base of the stream that flowed out the front gate. In the middle of the lake, a huge fountain sent a crystalline mist of water skyward. The lake was ringed with a blossoming orchard, which faded into the more familiar mountain evergreens as the valley sloped up away from the lake. The palace itself reared above the water gardens at the height of the northern rise, but its walls were largely covered with hanging plants of all kinds, and the road that led up to the front gate was a seamless part of the water gardens, so much that Soujiro could barely see where it acended from tier to tier. The mist churned up by the waterfall ringed the lowest level of the palace itself in a glittering prismatic cloud, as well as the entire rear of the palace; Soujiro could not see where the palace touched the precipice behind it. The early rays of the pre-dawn sun were just beginning to crest the mountains to the east, casting the palace on the hill, and the waterfall above it, in a dim, dreamlike light while leaving the rest of the valley remained wreathed in slumbering shadow.  
  
"Quite a view, eh?" Nagata said smugly. Soujiro simply nodded. It was all he could do, even though the fact remained that someone down in that valley wanted him dead.  
  
Soujiro climbed back into the carriage, and Nagata quickly stirred the horses into motion again. It wasn't long before another sight came into view that the driver felt worth commenting on, however. At least he didn't stop the carriage; he simply opened a window in the front wall.  
  
"What do you think of that?" he asked, pointing to a six-foot-high crimson steel spike driven into the ground beside the road a short way down into the ravine.  
  
Soujiro was confused again. "Uhh ... nothing," he replied simply. "Sculpture of some kind?" If the man was about to start talking about art, Soujiro was seriously considering what Yamashina had said ShiShiO would have done in the first place. Art was only barely tolerable with Yumi around.  
  
"That's the high tide marker," Nagata said smugly. "That was the furthest any of ShiShiO's men ever reached into this valley, until today. So congratulations."  
  
"Arigatou," Soujiro replied with no trace of sarcasm. Nagata's eyes narrowed, trying to find some hint that Soujiro was being sardonic with him, but there was none there.  
  
Soujiro continued, "Who had it built? Genji?"  
  
Nagata laughed. "Perceptive, I see. It was me, actually, but you're right, Yamashina actually laughed at me when I suggested it. How did you know?"  
  
Soujiro simply smiled and didn't reply, though his assessment of Yamashina had just increased a hair. Another one of ShiShiO's lessons came back to him: *Samurai who stop to gloat over dead enemies soon become dead enemies themselves. Learn from the past ... but don't live in it. If you live in the past, you won't be living in the future.* ShiShiO had had a way with words sometimes.  
  
The carriage began to pick up speed as it hurried down into Yamashina's sheltered valley, and Soujiro soon lost sight of Yamashina's palace as the carriage entered the orchard surrounding the lake. Soujiro wondered where all the groundskeepers were ... it should have taken an army of servants to keep a plot of land this large looking this well-kept. The only thing he could think of was that Yamashina had ordered the area cleared, or at least all areas within sight of the road. Probably the entire area, since he would have no way of knowing that Soujiro would actually accept the carriage ride. Of course, the sun hadn't even broken the horizon yet, so it was hardly the prime working hours of the day, but most nobles had at least some people working for them around the clock.  
  
Nagata stopped the carriage when they reached the entrance to the first of the terraced gardens leading up to the palace. Soujiro looked around warily, expecting something with one corner of his mind, but Nagata simply hopped down from the driver's seat and opened the carriage for Soujiro. "Sorry I can't take you any further, but everyone's been ordered either into the hills or to the heart of the palace. Yamashina-sama should be waiting for you in the courtyard."  
  
Soujiro leapt lightly to the ground. "Arigatou," he repeated.  
  
Nagata simply shook his head. "Good luck, Seta-kun. You're going to need it." With that, the old man climbed back up into the driver's seat and led the carriage off on a narrow dirt trail wending around the base of the lowest garden tier, leaving Soujiro to begin the ascent up the terraced hill alone.  
  
Soujiro took the long way up the gardens, though he had to make a mental effort to make himself do that. It would have been easy for him to speed across the surface of the countless lily-covered pools and rocket up the sides of each terrace, and he could have reached the summit in a quarter of the amount of time he was taking. However, he somehow knew that Yamashina was watching him, and he wanted to give away absolutely nothing until he was within striking distance of the ex-Ishin Yakuza overlord.  
  
The first crimson sliver of the rising sun was just beginning to show itself over the rim of the eastern mountains when Soujiro ascended the last rise onto the lawn in front of Yamashina's palace. The gates were closed, but it never even occurred to Soujiro to wonder how he was going to get inside. The light of the rising sun fell on a figure in front of the palace gates a hundred yards away, and Soujiro knew Yamashina had come out to meet him. The man was absolutely motionless, but Soujiro could feel immediately that it was him, and tried to size the man up as much as possible as he approached him.  
  
The man was older than Soujiro, but looked like he was probably slightly younger than Kenshin. His hair was jet black, falling in a tightly bound tail to just above his shoulders in the back. A pair of swords, one a full katana and one a shorter wakizashi, hung at his left at his hips. His posture, his swords, and the light in his eyes marked him instantly as much more than a doorman, and Soujiro recognized the man's katana. He had borne one just like it for many years, the Kiku-Ichi-Monji. He had known that it was part of a set, but he had never seen any of its sister swords. The man was dressed in a light ensemble of pale grey and blue-grey, somewhat more decorate than a standard ninja or soldier's ensemble but without the ostentatiousness that had characterized ShiShiO and Aoshi, with their capes and trenchcoats. He shunned sandals in favor of slightly more agile thick socks, which Soujiro had used on occasion himself; he had been wearing similar footwear in his first encounter with the Battousai. He also wore similar fingerless gloves to Soujiro's, though his were somewhat darker in color, and looked to be slightly lighter than Soujiro's. He was not as demure as Soujiro, but he did not have ShiShiO's air of incomparable arrogance.  
  
"Good morning, Soujiro-kun!" he called as Soujiro approached within fifty feet of him. "A pleasure to finally meet you in person!"  
  
Soujiro stopped, and dropped a hand to his sword. "Good morning to you, too, Yamashina Ito," he replied politely. "I think this visit is more business than pleasure for me, but I'm honored to receive such warm hospitality."  
  
Yamashina actually arched a quizzical eyebrow at him. "I'm amazed," he said after a moment. "I would never have believed ShiShiO could raise such an apprentice."  
  
It was Soujiro's turn to arch a confused eyebrow. "I haven't even drawn my sword yet," he replied, puzzled.  
  
"Oh, not that, not that," Yamashina replied lightly. "I was expecting that he could teach you that as well as anyone. I never would have thought that he could teach anyone to be polite."  
  
"He didn't teach me that," Soujiro answered.  
  
"Really?" Yamashina replied. "I'm not surprised. Well then, if you're all ready, why don't we find out what he did teach you?" The man's katana slid free of its sheath, though he left the wakizashi in its sheath.  
  
"Yare yare," (1) Soujiro replied, dropping back into the Battou stance. "I was hoping you'd tell me where to find Young-eun first. But I'd like to get going as well."  
  
Yamashina actually laughed. "I never would have thought any of ShiShiO's pupils would ever be able to show so much compassion, either. You know she actually doesn't need your help as much as you probably think."  
  
"Probably not," Soujiro responded lightly as well, "but I came all this way to see her, it'd be a shame to stop now, don't you think?"  
  
A feral grin split Yamashina's face. "Good luck to you then, Tenken-no-Soujiro!" With that, he charged, and Soujiro sprang forward. They crossed the ground that separated them in heartbeats, and Soujiro's sakaba blade flew from its sheath in the form of the Tenken Battou Jutsu. He struck nothing but steel. Yamashina was not finished, however. He spun away from the impact, using the force of the meeting of their blades to augment his spin, and lashed out with the wakizashi that came slashing from its sheath in Yamashina's left hand. Soujiro twisted aside and skidded away, but the wakizashi left a cut in Soujiro's glove and a scrape on the flesh beneath. If Soujiro had been a hair slower, Yamashina might have slit the top of his wrist.  
  
In the split-heartbeat that it took for Soujiro to regain his fighting posture, Yamashina had the wakizashi back in its sheath again, ready to do it all over again. His feral grin had not even wavered, though his eyes were bright with concentration. "Genji wouldn't have even fallen for that," he quipped. "You've gotta have something better than that!"  
  
"Don't worry," Soujiro replied, the blood starting to race in his veins as the halfway-forgotten passion of battle began to simmer in his mind again. "We're just getting started."  
  
*****  
  
  
(1) Thank you  
(2) Oh well  
  
  
COMING SOON: What, you think I left you hanging or something?! (Isn't this how they always do it in the series?) Anyway, next up are Chapter 14, "The Heavenly Sword" and Chapter 15, "A Shooting Star." As you can probably tell, this story is approaching the end, though I'm hoping I can tie up enough loose ends (that you might have forgotten about if you read this over the course of several days) to keep it interesting.  
  
For the second installment in a row, I'm sorry it took me so long to put this out! I'm in the midst of campaigning for our University Senate, and time has not been a resource I've had much of to spare! No promises on the last part, either; it may be a while, but I'll try to get working on it ASAP. I have the outline for it, I just need to find time to sit down and get it done.  
  
My special thanks to loyal fans who have been with this series since its inception back in December, and to everyone who's left a good review or piece of constructive criticism! As always, I look forward to hearing your thoughts on this latest section! Ave Soujiro!! 


	8. Chapter 14

DISCLAIMER: We both know I don't own Soujiro, ShiShiO, Kenshin, Senkaku, Udo Jin-e, or any of the other characters that are making Watsuki Nobuhiro and his corporate sponsors/affiliates rich. If I did, I wouldn't be sweating in a crowded dorm room trying to put off studying for an economics midterm! I'm writing in a bloody sweatshop! Anyway, I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. If not ... chikushou, aku baka!  
That reminds me ... my Japanese is next to nonexistent. Don't fault me for it. At least I'm trying.  
Happy reading!  
  
ANTI-DISCLAIMER (would that be just a "claimer?"): Some of these characters ARE my own creation, as well as many elements of the setting; the town of Ichibou, Kim Young-eun, Karachi Hoebu, Yamashina Ito, Genji Taku, and several other minor characters are my own ideas. Use your head. If it never appeared in anywhere in the Kenshin series, then it's probably mine. Not that anyone cares but me.  
  
SPOILERS/BACKGROUND: To Kenshin TV ep 61, "Remaining Ju Pon Gattana, Choice of Life."  
  
*****  
  
  
CHAPTER 14:  
THE HEAVENLY SWORD  
  
There was a shower of sparks as Yamashina and Soujiro's blades met again, but Soujiro had learned from the first strike, and didn't give the Yakuza overlord the angle he needed to do a point-blank Battou Jutsu with his opposite hand this time. Yamashina was unbelievably quick with his katana, however; Soujiro struck twice in rapid succession, hoping to draw Yamashina off guard, and the other man brushed them aside just as quickly. Soujiro had to leap away to avoid exposing himself to the wakizashi.  
  
Yamashina countered with an attack of his own, trying to prevent Soujiro from regaining his footing, but Soujiro was light on his feet, and unbalancing him was all but impossible. Soujiro tried to use that to his advantage, luring the grey-clad fighter in with a false opportunity, but Yamashina didn't bite. At one point, Soujiro thought he had an opening, but Yamashina's wakizashi leapt from its sheath just in time to parry Soujiro's counterstrike. Soujiro had to accept the force of impact and let it hurl him skidding back several strides, or he would have been held right where Yamashina wanted him. ShiShiO had taught him how to control a skid without falling or hurting himself.  
  
Soujiro expected Yamashina to press his advantage, which he did, but Soujiro came forward to meet him halfway, hoping to catch him before he was ready for the strike. He did, but Yamashina still blocked Soujiro's attack with his wakizashi; the smaller blade was quick enough to get up on defense, and Soujiro had had to attack on Yamashina's left side, where he held the smaller blade. Yamashina turned the parry into what might have been a lesser version of Aoshi's Gokou Ju Ji, slicing at Soujiro's neck with his blades crossed, but Soujiro was ready for that; before the attack could reach him, he planted his foot in Yamashina's stomach, and it was the Yakuza mastermind's turn to leap backward to absorb the impact. His attack struck harmlessly several inches in front of Soujiro. Immediately, though, Young-eun's captor was coming back for more.  
  
There was never a single instant between when Yamashina was on attack and when he was on defense. Even the best fighters in the world had a brief moment when they switched from defense to offense that they were vulnerable; it was one of the disadvantages of fighting from a defensive style. Yamashina's form and style were absolutely perfect, however. Attacks became parries; parries became counters. He could attack with one hand and defend with the other. Soujiro was calling on enough speed to equal Kenshin's Shinsoku, (1) and was getting absolutely nowhere. He was watching Yamashina's respect for him grow with every strike, and the feral grin gradually faded from Yamashina's face, but Soujiro never managed to lay more than an errant, off-balance kick on the other man. Their blades whirled and rang, sending off showers of sparks in all directions and ricocheting wildly off one another, only to have the force of those ricochets rotate into the next attack.  
  
Eventually, with an acrobatic leap off the outside wall of the palace, Yamashina disengaged. They had gone at least two straight minutes without breaking off, and neither one's breath had even quickened perceptibly. Soujiro knew he was controlling his, and guessed that Yamashina was using the same technique. Soujiro's wrist hurt from the scrape and from a particularly jarring blow, and Yamashina's stomach and left ribs had both taken hits from Soujiro's lightning-quick feet.  
  
"Why don't you stop fooling around with that sakaba?" Yamashina asked. "I don't feel like I'm fighting ShiShiO's pupil here. You would never have touched one of those with him in sight!"  
  
"I know," Soujiro replied. "But it was one of these that finally beat me, so there's nothing making it weak."  
  
"It was Himura Kenshin that beat you, not a sakaba! He would have diced you into chopped liver with a katana! You won't stand a chance against my Tensui Ryu (2) without a real sword."  
  
"You're hurt as much as I am," Soujiro observed.  
  
"Aho!" (3) Yamashina snapped. "Can't you see that I'm trying to get you to fight me seriously?! I've been holding back to let you get the message!"  
  
Soujiro shrugged. "I guess I still need more convincing," he said with his most innocent smile.  
  
Yamashina's feral grin returned. "Have it your way, Soujiro-kun," his voice rang out, and his eyes blazed. "Let's see you counter this with a sakaba! Tensui Ryu, Samebatsu!" (4)  
  
Before the sound had completely died away from Yamashina's lips, his feet blurred, followed a nanosecond later by the rest of him. There was a cracking sound like a string of tiny firecrackers to Soujiro's right, and he barely managed to wheel around in time to block the blinding flank attack. A split second later, Yamashina came at him again, this time from Soujiro's left, in the direction Soujiro had originally been facing. Soujiro blocked that one, too, but didn't get his feet set right to avoid the impact and was thrown back a step. He had to drop wildly to the ground and block to his left again to avoid the third stroke, and blocked the fourth strike from a completely prone position. Yamashina struck immediately, crushing the ball of his foot into Soujiro's ribs, unable to afford the time it would take to bring the wakizashi into play. Fortunately, that slowed him down just long enough for Soujiro to bring his sword partially around to bear in time to counter Yamashina's fifth blurring swing, and to partially catch Yamashina's blade on his own this time, throwing him out of the rhythm of his attack.  
  
Yamashina blurred to a halt several yards in front of Soujiro, a wary expression on his face. Soujiro was on his feet in a heartbeat, but needed a controlled breath before he was ready to attack again. His eyes were narrow and alert, however. It had been two steps short of the full thing, but there was no mistaking what Soujiro had just seen. Or hadn't, since it was beyond the grasp of human eyes.  
  
"Shuku-chi," Soujiro stated flatly.  
  
"You've heard of it, I see," the grey-clad man said smugly. "Very good. ShiShiO dreamed of being able to do it himself someday, did you know? He was never able to accept the fact that he simply couldn't do it, no matter how strong his muscles became. It requires letting go of yourself, and he was always much too full of himself to come even close."  
  
Soujiro's eyes widened. Yamashina didn't know everything about him after all, at least. Then he smiled again, and a hidden tension fell away from him. "Thank you for the lesson," he replied lightly, planting his right foot behind him, "but I already know how it works." With that, he drove forward and vanished, matching Yamashina's speed at two steps short of the full Shuku-chi. A look of naked surprise painted Yamashina's face as he twirled his blades to meet Soujiro's attack. His defense melted into offense almost instantly, but Soujiro knew that he had an opening for a brief moment, and how to take advantage of it. Yamashina had to use both of his swords to block Soujiro's rushing attack, and in that instant, Soujiro spun his sheath upward with his left hand, ramming the end into Yamashina's armpit.  
  
Yamashina shook off the blow, and countered with a knee aimed at Soujiro's groin while their blades were still locked. Soujiro's blow had slowed him momentarily, however, if only slightly, and Soujiro was able to sidestep, wrenching his sword free a split-second later. It landed him on the defensive again almost immediately, however, as Yamashina somehow turned that knee thrust into the first step in his next lunge. He did not have the balance he needed to jump straight into the Shuku-chi again, whereas Soujiro was more set; Soujiro tried to use this to his advantage and came up short again, as Yamashina countered Soujiro's defensive strike, and suddenly was completely balanced again as well. Yamashina drove in again, and once again locked Soujiro's sword with his own paired blades.  
  
"Very good," Yamashina hissed, "much more attention to defense than I would expect from ShiShiO's protege. But try and block this." Yamashina slipped his wakizashi free of the tangle of blades, and drove it at Soujiro's face; when Soujiro twisted his blade to block the short sword, Yamashina slashed in with the katana. Soujiro blocked that as well, and Yamashina countered with the backslash of his wakizashi. Soujiro quickly realized that the first two blows were only to establish his rhythm, and was ready for the speed of the third and successive blows; they came at near-Shuku-chi speed. Yamashina never made the mistake of putting all his energy, or even most of his energy, behind any single strike, enabling him to avoid any attempt by Soujiro to lock one blade or the other with his own. In a matter of ten seconds, Soujiro had parried at least forty attacks; he lost track after the first six or so. Their swords were striking each other so quickly and so often that it sounded like a Gatling gun had been turned on a piece of sheet metal in the courtyard.  
  
When Yamashina broke off the attack at last, because Soujiro was starting to adapt to its rhythm, he had already scored two small cuts, and was clearly surprised that he hadn't done more. A small slit in the cloth over Soujiro's left bicep bore a slight but spreading red stain, and another one on Soujiro's right leg was less serious but nonetheless more than a shaving cut.  
  
"Impressive," Yamashina said appreciatively. "No one has ever survived the Arashi Kenbu (5). You've earned your legend, Soujiro."  
  
"I didn't know I had one," Soujiro answered. "But thanks anyway." His voice was still unfailingly polite, but there was no mistaking the concentration in his eyes. "My turn," he finished. "Meibatsu!" (6)  
  
This was one of Soujiro's favorite attacks against tougher defensive opponents. He lunged in from the front, expecting Yamashina to parry his first atttack. He then spun to his right to unbalance his opponent as he turned to meet him, and as the crowning point of the attack, leapt in behind the second attack, leaping into the air and allowing the force of the impact to throw him into a somersault over the head of his opponent, bringing the blade down on the back of his enemy's skull in a blinding, whirling blur. The attack worked completely ... until the last part. Yamashina blocked it with the wakizashi in his left hand without even turning around.  
  
Yamashina got greedy, however, and tried to twist around and attack Soujiro with his katana while the Tenken was still in the air. Apparently he forgot that Soujiro could play with more parts of his sword than the blade, or didn't know that Soujiro wasn't exactly slow even with his feet off the ground. Soujiro pivoted his sword against Yamashina's wakizashi in midair, ramming the hilt of the sakaba into Yamashina's right wrist as he brought his longer sword into play and almost disarming him. Yamashina had to leap back to recover his grip on his weapon, allowing Soujiro a safe landing.  
  
Unlike Himura, however, Yamashina did not stand still and allow Soujiro to come at him. As soon as he recovered from Soujiro's blow, he blurred into motion again. Soujiro didn't understand why he hadn't upped the ante and gone to a single step short of the Shuku-chi, but he wasn't about to remind him. He wasn't about to stand still, either. Standing still was never a part of his battle plans. An eyeblink after Yamashina blurred into action again, Soujiro did the same, still staying at two steps short of the Shuku-chi.  
  
The next minute or so of the fight was so comical that Soujiro almost broke out laughing. Neither Yamashina nor Soujiro were stupid enough to allow the other to get a direct angle on the other, and they were both extremely agile and changed directions without warning every other heartbeat. They never lined themselves up so they were both coming directly at each other. The result was that they were both having to aim at targets moving sideways or at off angles, faster than the eye could completely follow. Out of at least twenty tries for each of them, they only met each others' steel once. Their feet wildly churned up the dirt in the courtyard, and their changes in direction dug huge divets in the ground, but their swords touched absolutely nothing. Every time one of them tried to adjust their aim to guess where the other was going, the other somehow read it and changed direction.  
  
Eventually, they both skidded to a stop, almost simultaneously. They were almost sixty yards away from each other. Yamashina actually gave Soujiro a somewhat wry grin. "Whoops," he said sheepishly, slipping his wakizashi back into its sheath. "That didn't work so well."  
  
"Not really," Soujiro agreed.  
  
Yamashina's grin sharpened again as he switched his katana into his left hand. "So let's try something different," he smirked. With that, he blurred from vision again. There was the single step short of the Shuku-chi that Soujiro had been expecting! It was a Gatotsu at near-Shuku-chi speed! Soujiro knew what was coming, though. Yamashina was too clever to try something so simplistic, especially when he was already sure that Soujiro could beat the Gatotsu and it wasn't really an Ishin ShiShi technique, anyway.  
  
At the last instant, Yamashina drove forward with the wrong hip, and the wakizashi sprang into play again. He was better than Soujiro would have guessed at drawing the wakizashi from his right hip with his right hand, but nonetheless, the awkwardness of the draw did slow him down momentarily. He had been counting on surprise. Soujiro fell back into the stance of his Meimei Shubi, (7) blocking both attacks a heartbeat apart.  
  
Suddenly, Soujiro tumbled backward; an acid sensation welled up in his throat, and a white froth burst from his mouth. There had been a third part of Yamashina's attack; Yamashina had stepped in behind his attack and delivered a knee kick with all the momentum of the near-Shuku-chi behind it into Soujiro's stomach. Soujiro regained his feet gingerly, and the burning sensation in his throat made his breathing ragged for the first time that he could remember since being struck by the Ama-Kakeru, Ryu-no-Hirameki.  
  
"Tensui Ryu," Yamashina announced coldly. "Tsunami." (8)  
  
"Nice," Soujiro grated in response. "But it won't work on me again." His eyes were narrow and wary, though. Yamashina had had a right to be bitter over not being chosen as the Battousai's successor. ShiShiO would have had trouble with this man, and the ShiShiO Soujiro remembered was much more powerful than the ShiShiO that had been the Ishin Shishi's top assassin after Himura-san quit.  
  
"Won't it?" Yamashina smirked, settling into the Gatotsu stance again. Soujiro's eyes narrowed further. Yamashina knew Soujiro was telling the truth. Soujiro was sure of it; he didn't seem like the type to underestimate an enemy. So the Yakuza lord was about to try something else. What was it? If he charged, Soujiro had a counter, though. He slipped his sword into its sheath and crouched low into the Battou stance, crouching even more forward than he usually did.  
  
Yamashina's eyes blazed. "Let's go, Soujiro!" he cried, and he hurled himself forward at a step short of the Shuku-chi once again. He was clearly expecting Soujiro to leap forward with a Battou Jutsu, and had adjusted the angle of his attack to make that difficult for the Tenken, but that was not Soujiro's intent at all.  
  
"Chi-no-Arashi!" (9) Soujiro shouted, twisting and whirling his sword from his sheath, well before Yamashina had covered half the ground to him. Soujiro swept the flat of his blade along the surface of the ground at super speed, throwing up loose earth and rocks into Yamashina's path in an amplified version of Kenshin's Do Ryu Sen, though Soujiro had never seen Himura's similar technique.  
  
Yamashina was going too fast to stop completely, but much to Soujiro's surprise, he managed to break off the attack and deflect the torrent of earth and gravel with his blades, switching from pure attack to pure defense at nearly the speed of thought. Most of the Ishin Shishi learned such whirling defenses, usually to stop darts or arrows, but Soujiro would never have believed that he could change from an all-out attack to that defense so fluidly. The Tensui Ryu was aptly named. Soujiro was not finished, however. As soon as his stroke was completed, he sprang into motion, a single step short of the Shuku-chi, knifing out to one side and then back in to attack Yamashina's flank. He moved so quickly that the last part of the stream of rock was still arriving at the same time he was. Yamashina had to turn to meet Soujiro's attack, and accept the punishment of the last few stones and clods of earth ... which were moving more than hard enough to leave bruises. Yamashina didn't even stumble as they struck, though; he kept his balance as if he was a pyramid. The wakizashi lashed out in his right hand, forcing Soujiro to jump back, and the ex-Ishin instantly had his weapons back in the hands he was more familiar using them in.  
  
The grey-clad samurai straightened, though he did not lower his guard. "ShiShiO never taught you that," he oberved appreciatively. "I was wrong to call you a pupil."  
  
Soujiro answered with a quizzical look. "Does it make a difference what you call me? It doesn't matter who's a master and who's a student, does it? Just who's the strongest." Soujiro realized when he said that that he had been slipping back into the Tenken mindset more and more since this string of fights began, but at the moment, he didn't have time to consider the implications of that. He had touched a nerve in his opponent, though.  
  
"Oh, that doesn't matter, either," Yamashina replied. "If that mattered, Makoto would never have inherited the mantle of the Ishin Shishi's top operative."   
  
"So why didn't you challenge him for the title?"  
  
"They needed both of us," Yamashina spat. "They convinced me to set it aside for the sake of the cause. I gave everything up for them. The Yakuza, my family, my own personal prestige and honor. Then they conveniently forgot about me when it finally got around to setting up a new government. They didn't want to risk having a mob child in the cabinet. So they found someone else."  
  
"So now you're out to destroy the Meiji government, too?" Soujiro asked. That was surprising. He would have found it hard to believe that such an ardent enemy of ShiShiO could hate the government as much as ShiShiO did. Then again, the government always seemed to step on a lot of toes.  
  
Yamashina laughed. "I'm not as crazy as ShiShiO. And having a weak government in power suits me just fine, now. No, Soujiro, I have no need to destroy such a feeble enemy. The greatest conquerors in history have all known one thing: you only need to destroy what you cannot control. And the Meiji government is nowhere near strong enough to resist me. You, however, are another matter."  
  
"Glad you think so," Soujiro replied. "And what about Young-eun, then?" He said that almost as much for himself as for Yamashina, to remind himself of who he was now and the reasons that had brought him here. He realized that he was slipping into the hard mentality of the Tenken, and while Yamashina was talking was the best chance he had to fight it. His mind flashed back to his conversation with Young-eun the previous night. *Strong things don't break. Hard things do.* He could not afford to be hard now. He needed to be strong.  
  
Yamashina gave a sinister grin. "She'll be a challenge, I'm sure. I don't know if I can control her yet. We'll see. I hope I don't have to destroy her. She'll take some work, but she has more potential than anyone I've ever seen."  
  
"Potential?" Soujiro retorted. "Potential for what?" He had to force his nerves to freeze, while his blood boiled in its veins.  
  
Yamashina's eyes widened, as though realizing he had said more than he might have intended, though Soujiro couldn't make heads or tails of what he had said. "Oops!" he said. "I think I'm talking too much. Let's go, Soujiro!"  
  
***  
  
Ueda's attention was diverted from the door of Yamashina's private chambers by the sight of another black-garbed companion of his trudging down the hallway toward him.  
  
"What is it, Hiraki?" Ueda asked.  
  
Hiraki shrugged. "Hell if I know. I just got assigned to guard duty here, too."  
  
"You're relieving me already?"  
  
"No, sorry. The captain said you're staying."  
  
Ueda threw up his hands in exasperation. "Does the captain think I'm a complete incompetent? It shouldn't take two of us to guard one bound, unarmed woman."  
  
"I just do what I'm told."  
  
Ueda growled to himself. "I don't suppose I could ask you to hold down the fort by yourself for a minute? I'm dying for a drink."  
  
"Sure, I guess. It's your ass, not mine, if you're caught, you know," Hiraki replied.  
  
"I know. Who cares? Nothing's going ..." he trailed off by the sound of movement in the bedroom.  
  
"What was that?" Hiraki asked.  
  
"I don't know," Ueda replied, pulling his sword free of its scabbard, "but she shouldn't have been able to move that much!"  
  
Ueda and Hiraki threw open the door and burst into Yamashina's room. The first things they saw were the chains and cuffs that had bound their master's prisoner to the wide canopied bed in the middle of the room. They were lying in a pile on the floor, and the captive was nowhere to be seen.  
  
"Oh, shit," Ueda gasped when he saw the empty room. "The captain's going to kill us."  
  
Then the door to Yamashina's walk-in wardrobe opened, and the little Korean girl appeared. She moved slowly, almost like a ghost, but the guards' eyes narrowed warily. Somewhere in Yamashina's wardrobe, she had found a wakizashi, and it glittered brightly in her hand. There was nothing clumsy or unsteady about the way she held it, either. She did not make eye contact with them at first. When she did, the guards backed away another step. There was an absolutely lightless cast to her eyes. They were like two cold stars burning in a midnight sky.  
  
"No," she said. "He won't." There was a whooshing sound as her form blurred into action.  
  
***  
  
Yamashina and Soujiro exchanged a few more thrusts and parries, but the heat that had been behind their first several attacks on each other had subsided somewhat. Soujiro thought that was strange, and kept waiting for when Yamashina intended to pounce--the only reason he could think of was that Yamashina was trying to lull him into getting lazy--but Yamashina never seemed to want to commit to any attack. Soujiro guessed he was waiting for an attack himself, hoping to draw Soujiro off balance and counter, but Soujiro wasn't biting. There were more quick breaks in the fighting as well, as they would stop and try to size each other up every few seconds rather than keeping moving.  
  
Eventually, Soujiro had had enough. He disengaged, hurling himself backward, and took a defensive position on the turf. Yamashina took a similar position twenty yards or so away. What Yamashina forgot, or didn't realize, was that the fight had circled around so that Soujiro was now between Yamashina and the palace, and the grey-clad Yakuza overlord was out closer to the garden gate.  
  
Soujiro grinned. "I'm up for a change of scene. Watchya think?" With that, he sprang back and darted up the wall of the palace, his legs propelling him up the wall so quickly that he never had a chance to start falling. He had used this trick against the Battousai as an attack, but he doubted Yamashina was going to stand still and wait for him. He was right.  
  
Yamashina let out a snarl and bolted forward, springing skyward as soon as he got within range to attack Soujiro while the blue-clad assassin was not looking. Soujiro smiled. If Yamashina actually thought that he had truly turned his back on an enemy, then he didn't know Soujiro at all. Soujiro twisted aside on the surface of the wall the instant before Yamashina reached him. Yamashina got his feet between himself and the wall, saving himself from jumping headlong into the stone face, but Soujiro was there and waiting with his katana. They actually traded a pair of blows before gravity caught up with them, but Soujiro got the better of the exchange. Yamashina had not had time to balance himself properly on the wall, and he probably had not trained as much with fighting from this position as Soujiro had.  
  
There was a light rushing sound in the air as Yamashina's wakizashi sailed up and out of reach over the top of the wall, though the sound was drowned by the thud as both Soujiro and Yamashina crashed to the ground. Neither one could spare much attention to breaking their fall, because they had to worry about each others' blades on the way down. They both knew the other was capable of attacking in midair.  
  
Soujiro landed harder than Yamashina, however. Soujiro was already hurt on two of his limbs, and his roll to absorb the impact was not as fluid as Yamashina's. Yamashina seemed to roll and flow along the ground and then back to his feet as if his Tensui Ryu actually made him into a breathing mass of water. Soujiro winced as he got to his feet. Dirt had settled into the cut on his thigh, and a twinge of pain raced down his leg as he regained his feet. He had taken away one of Yamashina's weapons, but at what cost?  
  
The Yakuza lord was re-assessing him appreciatively, however. "I was right about you," he said, the light of battle brightening in his eyes until they practically glowed. "I haven't been disarmed in a fight since the day before I turned thirteen. Even Himura Battousai never managed that, when we sparred together as Ishin Shishi."  
  
"Really?" Soujiro actually let himself be impressed, though he took it in stride as much as anything else. "I'm surprised. When you fight with two weapons, it's a lot harder to pay attention to both of them than when you fight with one."  
  
"True," Yamashina admitted, "but I was born ambidextrous. The Tensui Ryu isn't for everyone. Besides myself, I can only think of one other person still living who could learn to use it effectively."  
  
Soujiro eyes narrowed, and his mind raced. At first, he thought that the man was actually talking about him, since he was the only other person the man had probably ever met who had mastered the Shuku-chi. However, they both knew that learning a second style, or switching to a second style as a primary style, is almost impossible for masters. Even if Kenshin ever mastered the Shuku-chi, he would never fight like Soujiro did. Soujiro knew how to read techniques with a single pass; he had read Kenshin's succession technique, and had actually been practicing his Kuzu Ryu Sen for some time, but that did not make him a student of Hiten Mitsurugi Ryu. Yamashina and Senkaku might have learned modified versions of the Gatotsu, but that did not make them Shinsen Gumi. Soujiro himself had been working on a new style, Aoi Denkou Ryu, part of his plan to 'destroy everything and start over,' as he had told Yumi-san, but it was really more a modification of his old Tenken Ryu than anything else. And it sounded like Yamashina practically never left the valley, or if he did, it was only to go pull strings with politicians and such; he doubted the man saw a warrior spirit burning in very many of them. Something in that thought touched off a sixth sense in the back of Soujiro's mind ... warrior spirit ... spirit ...  
  
Soujiro's eyes widened, and Yamashina gave a sharp but smug smirk at the understanding dawning in them. "You can't be serious," he gasped.  
  
"Why not?" Yamashina grinned evilly. "She'll take some taming, to be sure, but I think she'll be one of the finest assassins in the history of the country someday. No one will ever suspect a woman could have the abilities I've seen in her, either. Why do you think you hit it off so well with her? Do you really think it was her warmth and good cheer?"  
  
Soujiro was stunned. Yamashina was completely right. No one would ever suspect her. She had the same coolness, coldness even, that Soujiro had. She had had a troubled childhood, too, growing up in an adoptive family the same way Soujiro had; not abusive, but in a country not her own. She was young and emotionally vulnerable. With a little extra pushing, she could easily fall into the same emotional abyss Soujiro had. And Soujiro remembered what she had done with the chopsticks ... she had a fighter's instincts, the ability to sense others, ease of movement and near-perfect hand-eye coordination, with no training at all. She could easily be what ShiShiO had called Soujiro, 'a little genius at killing.' However, it was clearly not what she wanted.  
  
Slowly, a light began to burn in Soujiro's eyes as well. He sheathed his sword and readied himself for battle again. His mind was digging back to that most repressed memory that Himura had unlocked, the memory that had cost him that battle then, but he would fight for now. The memory of himself as a smiling eight-year-old boy in the midst of a rainstorm, staring at the small sword in his hands and at the first people he had ever killed. The memory of the thoughts running through his mind before ShiShiO had come out of the warehouse and taken the Tenken away with him.  
  
*I killed these people ... but I never really wanted to ... I didn't want to kill ... true, I might have been smiling that rainy night but ... the truth is I was crying.*  
  
Soujiro was stronger than he had been at that encounter with the Battousai, he realized. *Strong things don't break. Hard things do.* The words that he had said in passing to Young-eun on the roof of the blacksmith's shop the night before came back to him. That memory had broken him at ShiShiO's headquarters. The light of battle blossomed in his eyes when he thought of it now, but he did not lose his composure.  
  
"Let's go, Yamashina," he said icily. Without another word, Soujiro blazed into action. Soujiro was beyond kidding around anymore. No more two-step-short, one-step-short games. He flashed out of human vision and into the driving strike of the Shun Ten Satsu. This time, his emotions were steady as he struck.  
  
And he struck nothing but steel.  
  
Even with the force of impact knocking Yamashina back several feet through the turf, Yamashina blocked and held Soujiro's blade with his own. The impact sent a shockwave out across the courtyard, but neither the blades nor their wielders gave out.  
  
"You want to end this, Soujiro?" Yamashina scoffed. "Very well then! Tensui Ryu, Uzushio!" (10)  
  
Yamashina shook his blade free of Soujiro's, and began the fastest and longest spin attack Soujiro had ever witnessed. He stayed a single step short of the Shuku-chi, which surprised Soujiro, but since the tip of his outstretched sword was moving even faster than he himself was at the center of his spin, the blade was actually moving faster than Soujiro could keep up with. Soujiro blocked the first attack, but his concentration zeroed in on the blade so much that Yamashina got off and effortless punch to Soujiro's stomach with his other hand. As Soujiro stumbled back, Yamashina spun again, before Soujiro could set his feet again. Soujiro got his sword between himself and Yamashina's, but the impact threw him to the turf. Yamashina towered over him, sword above his head like an executioner, bringing the blade down on Soujiro's neck. Soujiro managed to wrench his sword around and block it, reversing the sakaba and putting one hand just behind its tip to stabilize it, but the impact popped his unleveraged left shoulder, and Yamashina kicked him while he was down, sending him sprawling. This time, Soujiro landed on his stomach, leaving his unprotected back facing upward for Yamashina to sever. He tried to spin around on the ground beneath the lightning-fast attack, but he knew that it would be too late.  
  
The ring of steel on steel so startled Soujiro as he spun that he barely remembered to get back on his feet when he saw that he had been granted a reprieve from death. It was not the reprieve that startled him so much as who had given it to him.  
  
Standing above him, between himself and the Yakuza lord, was Young-eun, a pair of wakizashi raised above her head, one of which was Yamashina's own that Soujiro had so recently sent flying over the palace wall. Her kimono was rent in a dozen places below the waist, and crumpled all over. Her hair was no longer tied back, and her midnight tresses had been all but cut off; her hair didn't even reach her neck anymore, and being completely unrestrained, it streamed out to one side of her in the dawn breeze. The pearl necklace she had worn the night before was gone. She had captured Yamashina's blade in the cross of her own, and her balance was perfect; she had not moved an inch from the point of impact. On top of all that, Soujiro had neither seen, heard, nor felt her approach.  
  
If Soujiro thought he was surprised, a glance at Yamashina told him that this was an even greater shock to him. The Yakuza overlord's eyes were wide with shock, and possibly even a touch of fear. He disengaged and took a step backward, flowing back into a defensive posture. Young-eun did the same, and backed up to one side as well. Soon her eyes came into view, and Soujiro felt like taking a step backward as well. They looked exactly like the midnight sky had only hours earlier, dark and infinite with two faint, untouchable points of light burning in their depths. Soujiro wondered if his eyes had ever looked like that; he doubted it, because people had never backed away from him when he passed them in the streets.  
  
Soujiro tried to step towards her and stumbled. The blows to his midriff had disturbed his center of gravity and disrupted his breathing, and his leg was beginning to feel like jelly after being wounded, then dashing up a wall, then using the Shuku-chi, and then having his blow at full speed blocked. He wanted to laugh, or cry, but he couldn't. It was too funny for laughter and too sad for tears. He had come here to protect her, and she was protecting him. He collapsed to one knee, driving the point of his sword into the ground for support.  
  
Young-eun spared him a passing glance of her frozen eyes, then turned her attention back to Yamashina. Even her voice was cold and distant. Emotionless. "So, Yamashina, you said I would come to enjoy killing someday," she said, tapping one foot on the ground behind her and crouching forward. A cold grin that was completely different from her smile the last time Soujiro had seen it split her face. She was losing herself, Soujiro realized, but he couldn't force his voice into action to call out to her. There was a lightless twinkle in her eyes as she punctuated the remark, "You may be right."  
  
Without any warning, Soujiro realized why Yamashina had seemed so much more surprised than Soujiro at Young-eun's appearance. He had seen something in her that Soujiro hadn't, since Soujiro had been prone at the time. As soon as those words left Young-eun's lips, she coiled her two short swords close to her body, and vanished from human eyes. The sound of her steps and the dirt flying from her sandals in her wake were all the evidence of her movement around the lawn. Yamashina blocked her first attack and barely even slowed her down. She blazed to a halt a few moments later, several yards away from the Yakuza lord.  
  
"You may definitely be right," she said again.  
  
*****  
  
  
(1) God-speed  
(2) Divine Water Style  
(3) Moron  
(4) Shark attack  
(5) Tempest Sword Dance  
(6) Divine Punishment  
(7) Invisible Defense  
(8) Tidal Wave  
(9) Storm of Earth  
(10) Whirling Tides  
  
  
COMING SOON: Chapter 15, "The Shooting Star." This is twice in a row now that I've left a fight (the same fight!) hanging in the balance, and I promise I'll keep writing on this as soon as I'm able. I figured that since I might not be able to write again for a little bit, I'd better publish what I have. It's already as long as several of my other chapters, anyway.  
  
Young-eun is not as strong as she thinks she is, and while she is definitely a far cry above anyone short of a Hitokiri, she has to learn the hard way that the Shuku-chi is not invulnerability. She also has to learn exactly what Soujiro did only weeks earlier, that being strong and being a killer are two different things. 'Strong things don't break; hard things do.' I think it's becoming a theme of this story. Soujiro must also find a deeper strength within himself, the strength that comes from fighting for more than oneself. He also has to do whatever he can to bring Young-eun back to herself and prevent history from repeating.  
  
What do you think so far? This is the biggest, most involved fight scene I've ever written, so I hope you at least have something to say about it! 


	9. Chapter 15 & Epilogue

DISCLAIMER: We both know I don't own Soujiro, ShiShiO, Kenshin, Senkaku, Udo Jin-e, or any of the other characters that are making Watsuki Nobuhiro and his corporate sponsors/affiliates rich. If I did, I wouldn't be sitting, steaming, and biting my nails hoping that the university won't raise tuition too much for next year. Anyway, I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. If not ... chikushou, aku baka!  
That reminds me ... my Japanese is next to nonexistent. Don't fault me for it. At least I'm trying.  
Happy reading!  
  
ANTI-DISCLAIMER (would that be just a "claimer?"): Some of these characters ARE my own creation, as well as many elements of the setting; the town of Ichibou, Kim Young-eun, Karachi Hoebu, Yamashina Ito, Genji Taku, and several other minor characters are my own ideas. Use your head. If it never appeared in anywhere in the Kenshin series, then it's probably mine. Not that anyone cares but me.  
  
SPOILERS/BACKGROUND: To Kenshin TV ep 61, "Remaining Ju Pon Gattana, Choice of Life."  
  
*****  
  
  
CHAPTER 15:  
THE SHOOTING STAR  
  
There was a long moment as Soujiro, Yamashina, and Young-eun all stood perfectly still in a triangle on the lawn in front of the Yakuza lord's garden palace. It was impossible to tell who held any advantage. Soujiro was still struggling to find his footing after the beating Yamashina had given him, and spots danced across his vision, but fortunately, he had not lost as much blood as he had feared at first. Yamashina was less hurt, but one of his blades was now in the hands of his little Korean captive. Young-eun was fresher than either of them, but she was the least experienced of the three of them and had never been in a situation like this until now.  
  
Yamashina broke the silence. "Well well well, Young-eun-chan, you learn even faster than I dreamed. However, I'm still the teacher here, and I think it's time you remembered that." He began to walk toward Young-eun as he spoke, not rushing into action, just creeping as inexorably forward as an incoming tide. Young-eun backed away before his advance.  
  
"I admire your courage," Yamashina said as he lowered himself into an attacking stance, "but you should learn to wait your turn!" With that, he blurred forward, and Young-eun instinctively threw up her short swords in defense. Her instincts and her speed saved her from being impaled, but she didn't have the skill to solve Yamashina's continuous, flowing attack. Soujiro remembered how much difficulty he had found finding openings in Yamashina's style; he was more technically perfect than ShiShiO, though he didn't have ShiShiO's raw power. All the little Korean girl could do was defend herself.  
  
Abruptly, Young-eun managed to break away, and quickly ducked sideways to avoid Yamashina's pursuing thrust. Soujiro's eyes widened again. She had developed one fairly advanced technique, at least. By speeding up and slowing down, she was able to create the impression of several phantasmal images of herself in the air. It was much more primitive than Shinomori Aoshi's waterflow technique, but for someone with little to no formal training, it was unbelievable.  
  
Yamashina was unfazed, however. "A word of advice, little one," he shouted as he turned to keep up with her. "If you can't do something right, don't try it!" He darted in against one of the images of her, and by the ring of steel on steel, Soujiro knew that Yamashina had solved the pattern of her attack. The other images of her winked out as their blades caught and held.  
  
Suddenly, Yamashina jumped back with a cry of surprise and pain. Young-eun had managed to slip part of her right-hand wakizashi free and grind the blade across the top of the knuckles on Yamashina's left hand. Yamashina flexed the hand gingerly; Young-eun had not been able to make a true stroke of it, and the cut was not deep, but a new and deadly seriousness entered Yamashina's eyes. It was a minor injury, but the fact remained that Young-eun had just penetrated his defenses, if only barely.  
  
Yamashina stole a glance with the corner of one eye at Soujiro. The blue-clad assassin was almost completely ready for battle again, and the pain in his leg was beginning to subside. Turning back to Young-eun, the Yakuza leader levelled his katana and set himself in an even more aggressive attacking stance than before. "I'm sorry, little one," he intoned icily, "but I can't afford to worry about two foes faster than me at once. It's a shame. You could have been great someday."  
  
Soujiro's eyes widened again, as he realized that Yamashina intended to kill her, but Young-eun's expression didn't even flicker. She simply set herself in a defensive stance and silently dared Yamashina to attack her. Soujiro was impressed; for someone so raw, she had a remarkable grasp of the Ma-ai (1). It was far from perfect, however, and Yamashina darted in and forced her to abandon it in a matter of moments. It had certainly made him hesitate, however; Soujiro took note, and thanked Young-eun in the bottom of his heart for those few extra breaths.  
  
Suddenly, Yamashina caught Young-eun's blades at an awkward angle, forcing her to bend one of her wrists in a way that it was not meant to go to get the cross block up in time, to one side of her head. Yamashina dealt two swift kicks with his powerful legs, and got his free hand on Young-eun's left wrist. Too late, Soujiro and Young-eun both saw what he was planning.  
  
With the king of all back roundhouses, one step short of the Shuku-chi, Yamashina sent Young-eun flying through the air so hard that she did a three-quarter somersault and landed on her stomach. The crunches as his foot connected with her temple and as she hit the ground were almost equally loud. Only one wakizashi came with her; the other remained in Yamashina's hand, jarred loose by the impact. Yamashina gave the prostrate girl a devilish grin.  
  
"I hope it was fun while it lasted," he mocked. He moved in, fully armed again, for the finishing blow.  
  
"Iie!!" Soujiro shouted, unable to spare time for another lone breath. He repaid the favor Young-eun had granted him, blocking Yamashina's swing on its way down and turning it aside into the earth. Fortunately, he had an instant before Yamashina could react with his wakizashi, and made use of it. *People who stand still in fights deserve to lie still after them,* he remembered thinking once, when he first began to develop his Budo. He took advantage of Yamashina's momentary defensive hesitation to drive himself skyward at point blank range, his left fist coming crushing up under Yamashina's jaw. It was an instinctive move, but it actually turned into one of the most spectacular he had connected with so far. It helped that Yamashina's attention had been partially diverted, of course. The Yakuza boss went stumbling backward, though he didn't go flying through the air and regained his balance before Soujiro even landed.  
  
With a small corner of his mind, Soujiro was aware that Young-eun was still moving, though only barely. Yamashina had powerful legs, and her arm had been tangled so she couldn't balance herself properly to prepare for either the kick or the fall. She wouldn't be jumping in to save him again; she probably wouldn't even be regaining her feet anytime soon, but at least she was still breathing.  
  
Soujiro had his sakaba back in its sheath before he even landed, and he landed already in the Battou stance. Taking a defensive stance against the Shuku-chi was usually a bad idea, but Soujiro had the speed to match it, and he was beginning to suspect something about Yamashina's Shuku-chi. Both Soujiro and Young-eun had upped the ante to the full thing more than once now, and he had not matched them. There was still the possibility that Yamashina was not taking Soujiro seriously in a corner of his mind, but Soujiro was beginning to seriously doubt that. He decided to put the matter to rest once and for all, and quickly switched the position of his two blades so that his hand rested by the hilt of the Oh-waza-mono, Heart of the Hungry Wolf.  
  
Yamashina smiled. "So you're ShiShiO's student after all. Let's end this here." He sheathed his own swords as well, and matched Soujiro's Battou stance with his own. Soujiro's expression did not waver, but he smiled inwardly. However arrogant Yamashina's words might be, the fact that he took a defensive stance against Soujiro meant that he was worried about the Tenken's attack. It also meant that he was counting on the extra speed of a Battou Jutsu. Soujiro had no intention of going for a killing stroke, however. He simply hoped that Yamashina didn't realize that.  
  
They lunged for each other at the same instant. Their blades blurred from their scabbards at the same time ... and Soujiro's covered more distance than Yamashina's before they met. Soujiro's eyes widened. That was no lack of effort on Yamashina's part. He really hadn't matched him. They traded several more blows before Soujiro disengaged, wary of getting careless and allowing Yamashina to slip in with the wakizashi.  
  
"You can't do it, can you?" Soujiro asked wonderingly. "You can't do the full thing anymore."  
  
Yamashina straightened, and appeared to relax his blades in front of him, though anyone who thought he was lowering his guard was an idiot. "I haven't been able to since the end of the Bakumatsu. At one point, I could barely manage three steps short of it. I've been getting better again since I started making this place a little more wild, a little more of a place I could lose myself in," he added with a gesture toward the green valley behind him, "but I could never abandon myself the way I could when I was just another rebel with a cause. And this place means too much to me to give it up now. Once things start meaning too much to you, the mindset you need simply won't come anymore. The Shuku-chi is too self-destructive for anyone who cares too much about themself. Enjoy it while you can, Seta Soujiro. It looks like things have started to get through to you, too. Even if you beat me, I may be the last person you get to use it against."  
  
"I don't care," Soujiro replied flatly.  
  
"Really?" Yamashina readied himself to attack again. "Well then, you might have been able to use it once or twice again ... but we'll never know!" He vanished into the blur of the near-Shuku-chi an instant later.  
  
Soujiro followed suit, and several quick slashes and parries followed. Yamashina was clearly putting more thought into each blow now that Soujiro had switched to the Garou-no-Kokoro, and the Oh-waza-mono blade was definitely faster and more dangerous than the sakaba, but despite this, no more blood flowed. Neither one of them connected, though they were fighting more fiercely than before. They were starting to adapt to each others' attacks, and they were also both running out of tricks and trying to wait for the best possible opportunity. Furthermore, they were both getting a little more defensive, since the match was beginning to take its toll on both of them and neither one of them wanted to risk leaving a fatal opening.  
  
Yamashina had one advantage that Soujiro could not match, however; he had the vulnerable, prostrate form of Young-eun on the ground not far away. Thus, as soon as he got the chance, he turned and lunged for the prone Korean girl, intent on eliminating her as a threat once and for all.  
  
*Iie!* Soujiro shouted to himself, though he did not shout it aloud, as he lunged to get his sword between Yamashina's katana and Young-eun's body. He was not the kind to talk and fight at the same time; the previous one had been ripped from his lips, but he had regained control of himself somewhat. He was glad that he had, too, because otherwise he might have forgotten that Yamashina was too smart to actually turn his back on an enemy. Yamashina had fallen for a similar trick minutes earlier. Soujiro was not about to do the same.  
  
Yamashina was ready for his intervention; he was not about to give up another crushing uppercut to the jaw. As soon as Soujiro came within range, Yamashina reversed his swing and brought his wakizashi into play. Soujiro simply smiled. He had not put as much of his energy behind his rush as Yamashina thought. If Yamashina had truly gone for Young-eun's life, it would have cost him his own, and they both knew it. Yamashina had been counting on Soujiro forgetting. It didn't work. Soujiro caught Yamashina's crossed blades on his own, throwing himself skyward an instant before the impact so that the force of the blow helped catapult him up and over Yamashina's head. Yamashina spun around too quickly for Soujiro to get an attack from above and behind him, but it was too late to stop Soujiro from landing in between the Yakuza lord and the fallen Korean teenager.  
  
The Yakuza lord gave a snarl of rage and came at Soujiro again immediately, knowing that the blue-clad assassin could not afford to give any ground because Young-eun was lying only two yards behind him. Soujiro knew this as well, and knew that he had to force Yamashina backward quickly or he was going to end up fighting from on top of Young-eun's back. Driving forward like an angry wind, he met Yamashina halfway rather than waiting for the attack, and Yamashina had to use both of his blades to parry Soujiro's savage sideways attack from the right. At the same instant, Soujiro turned and delivered a savage side kick straight into Yamashina's chest. Soujiro's legs were not weak, either, and Yamashina went skidding backward, though he kept his balance.  
  
The crystalline chime of cleanly-breaking metal was the first warning he had that he had made a mistake. Yamashina had locked the Oh-waza-mono blade with his own pair, and Soujiro's wrenching movement as he turned into his kick combined with the force of Yamashina flying away was too much for the legendary blade. Soujiro looked dejectedly at the shattered sword in his hands. The blade now ended in a jagged stump of metal about six inches below the hilt. The rest was lodged in the earth on the far side of Yamashina, almost at the edge of the terrace where the palace lawn fell away into the tiered water garden below.  
  
Fortunately, the impact had also been too much for Yamashina's wakizashi; though it was not broken, it had been bent visibly to one side, and there was a nasty crack running the length of the blade from the bend to the tip. Yamashina gave it a single wry grimace before sending it flying over his shoulder and over the side of the terrace; there was a faint splash as it reached the surface of the pond at the base of the wall.  
  
"Well well," Yamashina chuckled mirthlessly. "At least you did better with it than that last would-be hero." Soujiro cocked his head in puzzlement, and Yamashina continued.  
  
"This is twice in less than three days now that I've faced the Garou-no-Kokoro, did you know that? The last kid wasn't nearly as good as you, though."  
  
Soujiro's mind leaped back to the dying man that had borne the Oh-waza-mono when Soujiro had found him. Yamashina had fought him?  
  
"You killed him?" Soujiro asked.  
  
Yamashina laughed. "I roughed him up pretty badly, but I let him get away. Death would have been too easy on him. His shame would have cut deeper than my sword ever could, especially because I think he REALLY wanted to kill me. I think Genji went after him later, though."  
  
"It was personal?" Soujiro guessed.  
  
Yamashina's smile broadened, though it took nothing away from the feral gleam in his eyes. "It always is with family," he replied. The way he said the word 'family' put all kinds of emotion into it.  
  
"Family?!" Soujiro gasped, though he gave little outward sign of surprise; his mind was still in the battle, and all visible signs of emotion, other than a faint edge in his voice, were locked away. "He was your brother?!"  
  
"Pah!" Yamashina spat, the smile fading for a moment. "Not a chance. My mother had him before she married my father, with the head of another family."  
  
"So your stepbrother, then?" Saying it made a faint corner of Soujiro's mind uncomfortable. Most people would be horrified, but Soujiro remembered that the first person he had ever killed had been one of his stepbrothers.  
  
"Only in name," Yamashina grated. "He was never one of us. Being my stepbrother, not my blood brother, put him last in line for the inheritance of our family, even though he was older than everyone but my oldest brother, and he was as greedy and full of himself as ShiShiO, just without anything to back it up with. So he started tipping off the cops all over Japan on us. The Shinsen Gumi got my oldest brother six years before the end of the dynasty, and my oldest sister a year later. My other two brothers are locked away in Satsuma or Hokkaido somewhere; the government destroyed all traces of their identity just in case I became a cabinet member and wanted to try and push for their release, or if I returned here and wanted to get them out myself. When my father finally found out who was behind everything, the police were already onto him. So he fled to Korea, leaving orders that Sato was never to be allowed near this place again. I've never heard from my father since then, and I was away fighting in Kyoto at the time, so I never even got to say goodbye to him. I think he moved on to Los Angeles a few years later, and I have no idea where he is even now. That man could hide a river of blood in the middle of a snowfield. My stepmother stayed here, thinking that her son would be satisfied with my father gone and me in Kyoto. Sato let her keep thinking that until the night the dynasty's police kicked down the door. I didn't even hear about it until after the Bakumatsu; the Ishin ShiShi kept it quiet because they knew I'd leave and come back here if I knew." Yamashina's eyes had begun to fill with cold fire as he spoke, and there was an icy inferno behind them now.  
  
"Why didn't you just go get her out of jail after everything was over, then?" Soujiro asked. "Did they send her off to Satsuma, too?"  
  
Soujiro knew that he had struck a tender note when the icy light in Yamashina's eyes flared, and his battle aura almost seemed to sparkle and crackle with energy. "Oh, I tried," Yamashina snarled bitterly. "But Sato promised the Ishin a share of my family fortune if they would keep me away from her, since she and I were the only two people with more legitimate claims to it than his. Even the Ishin balked at that one ... they were releasing almost everyone else that the dynasty had wrongfully imprisoned ... but one Ishin cut a deal with Sato on the side."  
  
Soujiro's eyes widened even further. It was not hard to see where Yamashina was going. After a brief pause to absorb what he had just heard, the Tenken replied slowly, "No wonder you hated him so much."  
  
"You haven't heard the end of it!" Yamashina snapped. "When I got to the jail in Osaka where they were keeping her, ShiShiO was waiting for me. No guards, no officials, just him. I had never really liked him--he reminded me too much of Sato, so full of himself--but I never thought he would do anything like that, or I would never have stood aside when the Ishin leadership chose him to replace Himura-san. He didn't even try to mince words; he just told me straight out, 'your brother sent me here to stop you.'" Yamashina's knuckles whitened a shade on the hilt of his sword. "There hasn't been a shred of Ishin left in me since that instant. I was twenty feet from my stepmother, who was as unlike Sato as anyone could ask, and the only thing between me and the door to her was ..." he trailed off.  
  
"You fought him?" Soujiro surmised.  
  
"Of course!" Yamashina flared. "He was going to fight me anyway. Sato and ShiShiO both knew that I wouldn't give until she was free." Yamashina's eyes grew a touch fainter. "That was the most ferocious battle of my life," he continued. "There were no witnesses, other than the poor inmates looking and reaching out through their cell doors. My stepmother's arms were the last I ever saw of her." The faintness faded from his eyes, and the fiery gleam returned. "I was better than ShiShiO that night. ShiShiO had not been betrayed by the Ishin yet, and was nowhere near as powerful as the ShiShiO you knew. That night ... that night I was almost faster than the Shuku-chi. One of the reasons ShiShiO dreamed of the Shuku-chi so much was that I think I was the last person to ever beat him until Kenshin came along ten years later. It wasn't enough, though. ShiShiO knocked over a lantern while we fought. He wasn't like Sato--he wouldn't back down until it was clear that the fire would kill us both if we stayed another minute. By that time, it was already too late for my stepmother, or anyone else in those cells. Most of their screams had already been choked off. I even made it to her door, crossing the floor quickly enough that the flames never touched me, but I couldn't do anything when I got to her door. As soon as I stopped, the fire started to burn my legs, and the building was beginning to fall down around me. Her hands were already blackened, hanging out the bars of the tiny window in her cell door. So I escaped, and came back here, and became the Yakuza lord you see today. I was hoping to find Sato here then, but someone tipped him off that I had survived, and he was long gone when I got here." Almost as an afterthought, as he was tensing for battle again, Yamashina added, "I haven't been able to do the Shuku-chi since that night in Osaka."  
  
The Yakuza lord's eyes burned with frozen fire as he advanced on Soujiro. "It's a shame you have to use that lame excuse for a sword now," he said. "You were a more fitting wielder for the Garou-no-Kokoro than that backstabbing little schemer could ever dream of being." With that, he darted forward to join battle once again.  
  
Soujiro had been itching for a chance to switch back to the sakaba for some time now, anyway; attacking with the Oh-waza-mono had only been intended to feel out whether Yamashina actually possessed the full Shuku-chi or not. The Tenken had been taking an even firmer hold in his mind again when the Oh-waza-mono was in his hands; in fact, a part of his mind felt a pang of vexed regret at having to switch back to the reversed blade.   
  
He swung the sword free of its scabbard just in time to meet Yamashina's thrust, spinning sideways to the right at the same time so he could twist and bring the sakaba around against the left side of Yamashina's neck. The Yakuza lord parried it, but he had to twist backward with the left half of his body to do it, and Soujiro had already made his point. Without his wakizashi, Yamashina was forced to block with his katana; he could no longer block with one hand and attack with the other, at least, not with a blade.  
  
Yamashina had also made a point, too, though a lesser one. Soujiro had winced at the second impact of their blades, the pain in his shoulder revealing that he had not managed to completely wrench it back into place during the respite Young-eun had given him. Soujiro would very likely have been unable to withstand another Arashi Kenbu, had Yamashina been able to execute it. The dirt-caked cut on his right thigh was forcing him to put more weight on his left leg than he would have liked, as well, and prevented him from being able to follow up his second strike with a clean third stroke. Soujiro's hands were still steady on the hilt of his sword, however. He had fought while hurt before, and he had a higher tolerance for pain than people realized. After all, pain had been as regular a part of his life as a child as rice.  
  
"I think we're almost done," Soujiro said. His tone was completely conversational, as though they were finishing breakfast, not a duel. His blade was alert in his hands, however.  
  
Yamashina nodded his wordless agreement, and crouched forward with his sword low in front of him. There were no more words of contempt for the sakaba sword, or ridicule about Soujiro not fighting like ShiShiO's student.  
  
They blurred into the blinding rush of the Shuku-chi at the same instant. The pain in Soujiro's leg slowed him down a step, but no more. The mindset of the Shuku-chi actually helped Soujiro block out the pain, because the focus required was so intense. Yamashina was no more than a step slower than before, either. Mentally, they both had plenty of will to fight left in them.  
  
Soujiro's movement was still hampered, however, by the fact that he did not dare allow Yamashina an opening to get between himself and the prone figure of Young-eun. Yamashina quickly realized this, and timed all his movements perfectly to prevent Soujiro from getting a decent angle at the Yakuza lord. Soujiro had to react instantly and perfectly to every slash and thrust, and could not allow himself the space necessary for his usual blinding flank and rear attacks because doing so would leave the path between Yamashina and Young-eun wide open. The pain in his shoulder, while largely shut out by the mental state of the Shuku-chi, was still there, and growing with every impact of steel upon steel.  
  
Suddenly, Soujiro lost track of Yamashina for a fraction of a second. The Yakuza lord had put almost no force behind a swing to Soujiro's left, then then spun away to Soujiro's right while the little blue-clad assassin was focused on the first attack. Soujiro instinctively reversed the angle of his blade to parry the attack from his right ... and parried nothing but air. It was another second before Soujiro's eyes locked on the Yakuza lord again, and his eyes widened in fear and frustration. Yamashina had driven himself into the air as he spun, and was descending rapidly on the fallen form of Young-eun several yards behind Soujiro. She was trying to scream and roll out of the way, but lacked the breath and the energy to do much of either. Yamashina's sword was coiled over his left shoulder and ready to strike, and he was laughing evilly as he fell.   
  
"Tensui Ryu, Mizubashira!" (2) he shouted mockingly.  
  
Soujiro instantly blazed into action, covering the distance between himself and Young-eun at almost the speed of thought, but Yamashina was already there. Soujiro had to lunge and stretch out with both his arm and the sakaba blade, reversing the blade so that the sharp side pointed skyward. Soujiro was still moving, and had no control over his balance when their blades met. He could not hold his blade still. The force of Yamashina's blade crushed down on his own, ramming the blunt side of the sakaba into the back of Young-eun's shoulders, only inches from her neck. She collapsed in a heap, completely unconscious.  
  
Yamashina used the force of the impact, and Soujiro's sword on Young-eun's shoulders, for leverage to spring himself backward and avoid Soujiro's counterattack. Soujiro quickly stepped over Young-eun's body, putting himself between the Korean girl and the Yakuza lord again, but he was rapidly running out of options. Yamashina knew it, too, and was beginning to smile maliciously.  
  
"Charming," Yamashina mocked. "And how ironic. ShiShiO Makoto's highest protege putting his life on the line to protect someone so helpless."  
  
It was not a particularly vicious taunt, but light began to burn in Soujiro's eyes as the words sunk in, and memories of his battle with Himura-san flooded back into his awareness. They were memories of the final moments before his emotions broke out completely, of the things he had said to Kenshin, of the pain that had been bottled up inside him for so many years with ShiShiO that he had finally gotten to let out against the Battousai. They were memories of the helplessness and fear that had ultimately driven him to become one of the most heartless and lethal killers in history. He had not become an assassin out of hate, spite, or thirst for wealth. He had become a killer because he had had no one ... no one ...   
  
"You don't know a thing about me," Soujiro rasped as he slid his sword slowly back into its sheath. He had already used his strongest technique on Yamashina and had it brushed aside, but the resurgent memories of his fight with the Battousai had brought back memories of more than his childhood pain. The memories of the final seconds of his fight against Kenshin also held the key to beating Yamashina.  
  
*Back then you didn't ...* Soujiro's words rang in the hollows of his mind.  
  
Soujiro set himself in the Battou stance, crouching low and forward. The pain in his leg dwindled into the remotest corner of his mind. His eyes burned with concentration. There was one last thing the Battousai had shown him that he could do. It was a terrible risk, but Soujiro was prepared to take it. *It's impossible to master that technique and have a negative mindset, like wanting to die or being afraid,* he had told Yumi-san after Kenshin had levelled him. Soujiro realized that he had finally crossed that line as well. Whenever he had fought before, he had fought with the kind of abandon that comes from not caring if you live or die. Now, however, he had found something stronger. Yamashina's taunt of his uncharacteristic protectiveness had made him realize it. For the first time in his life, he truly wanted to live.  
  
*You didn't protect me before.*  
  
Yamashina saw the deadly seriousness in Soujiro's eyes, and realized that the Tenken was preparing for a final blow. Quickly, the Yakuza lord set himself in a stance similar to that of the Gatotsu, only this time with his right hand on the hilt. The blade was pointed straight at Soujiro's heart. "So it's time to end this at last," he murmured, his nerves clearly held in an icy calm. "Tensui Ryu Ougi," (3) he hissed, "Anya-no-Uzumaki." (4)  
  
*If you really believe what you say ...*  
  
Soujiro and Yamashina blazed into action at the same moment, directly at each other. Soujiro knew as soon as his first foot left the ground that he had achieved the full Shuku-chi again, but the moment Yamashina's feet drove forward, he realized that Yamashina had transcended himself at last. It was Shuku-chi against Shuku-chi.  
  
*Why didn't you protect me ...?!*  
  
At the last fraction of an instant before the two of them met, Soujiro lunged forward with his left leg, sweeping the sakaba from its sheath in the same fluid motion. Yamashina's eyes did not even have time to widen before the impact. The Shun Ten Satsu, amplified by the same last fatal step that Kenshin had used against Soujiro, crushed a horizontal swath across Yamashina's chest with a sickening crunch. The momentum of the Shun Ten Satsu was in a different direction than the Ama-Kakeru, Ryu-no-Hirameki, so the effect was not quite as dramatic ... but it was close. Yamashina went flying backward at least ten yards, spinning as he flew. His sword broke free and tumbled from his grasp, and the point sank into the turf several feet to Soujiro's right. The Yakuza lord himself landed with a vicious thud even louder than the one Young-eun had made as she fell, and lay unmoving on the lawn.  
  
"Aoi Denkou Ryu Ougi," Soujiro breathed. "Kitakaze no Kokoro." (5) The name simply seemed appropriate, though his voice did not have the quiet steel behind it that it usually did. There was a sharp tingling sensation on Soujiro's upper back, and it took him a moment to realize that Yamashina's blade had actually connected--it had gone far enough to get through Soujiro's clothing and touch the surface of Soujiro's skin, but the Kitakaze no Kokoro had struck and demolished his attack before the Yakuza mastermind's blade could pierce far enough to draw any blood. *He walks the line between life and death in that moment,* he thought to himself, remembering the words he had said to Yumi the last time he had seen her, explaining the power behind the Ama-Kakeru, Ryu-no-Hirameki. Explaining it was one thing, but living it was something else entirely. Soujiro realized with cold certainty that he had been a hair away from having his spinal cord severed.  
  
Slowly, Soujiro slid his sakaba's scabbard free of his belt and slid the reversed blade back into it. Then, the moment the blade fell into place, his knees folded over, and he collapsed. He did not fall completely onto his face, but the only thing that kept him from doing so was his sword. He ground the tip of the scabbard into the turf and used it for support, and even so, he could not manage any more than a sitting position.  
  
Eventually, Soujiro managed to leverage himself to his feet again. The sun had fully crested the rim of the mountains to the east, and Soujiro turned to soak in the morning light for a few moments. This was something he had done for years now, almost ever since he had walked away into the storm with ShiShiO on that fateful night. He was always up before dawn, usually training outdoors, and the sunrise was the first time he allowed himself to rest his sword and grab something to eat. When he had lived with his adoptive parents, he had always been up before dawn as well, but he had never gotten to appreciate a sunrise; the sun came and went, but Soujiro had always been hard at work long before the sun showed herself, and he had usually been bent over by the weight of immense rice bushels on his shoulders. He had never been allowed to take a rest or eat then. ShiShiO's practice schedule had almost been a welcome relief, though ShiShiO often put a greater strain on the Tenken's body than Soujiro's adoptive parents ever had. Eventually, over the course of his life with ShiShiO, the habit of recharging at sunrise had set in so deeply that the sunrise itself had begun to have a rejuvenating effect on the Tenken. "You're getting stronger," ShiShiO would always say during those pre-dawn exercises, "but you've got to keep pushing yourself! See if you can last until sunrise!"  
  
*See if you can last until sunrise,* Soujiro repeated to himself. He turned away from the sun, opened his eyes, and looked over at the unconscious form of Yamashina again. *It was a little harder today than usual, though,* he thought wryly.  
  
Finally, he made himself turn and look at Young-eun. She was still sprawled face down on the earth, and was as still as Yamashina. He approached her nervously, unsure of what to do. ShiShiO had never taught him how to revive someone unconscious; the occasion had never come up, but Soujiro imagined he would have simply said that if the person was strong enough, they'd wake up eventually on their own. Soujiro had every confidence that Young-eun was strong enough, but nonetheless, he couldn't shake the feeling that there had to be something he could do to speed up the process.  
  
Suddenly, a movement caught his eye, and he breathed a small inward sigh of relief. Her right hand was opening and closing weakly, as though she were still fumbling for the hilt of her wakizashi. It was a miniscule sign of life ... but at least it was a sign. At least it looked like she would be waking up well before Yamashina did, and Soujiro could always knock Yamashina out again if the Yakuza lord showed any signs of coming around. Nonetheless, it was probably a better idea to get out of the area before that became necessary.  
  
A growl in his stomach reminded him that those rests at dawn with ShiShiO had often come with rice and mixed vegetables, and often a few broiled shrimp. He had not eaten since late yesterday, and he had gone through three battles since then. Rice and mixed vegetables would never even come close. He was in the mood to down a triple helping of Yumi-san's Kagoshima-style tonkotsu; the woman had been the best cook he had ever met.  
  
Soujiro began to wonder where all of Yamashina's followers and retainers were hiding. Obviously, there was a palace nearby, and even though most of the battle would have been invisible from within because of the courtyard wall, he had to believe that some of Yamashina's servants and guards had found some way to watch from somewhere. He found it hard to believe that Yamashina's order to keep out of the fight would hold now that their master had fallen, though Soujiro admitted to himself that had ShiShiO given him that order, he probably would have simply walked off and found something else to do. ShiShiO would probably have taken needing to be rescued as an insult and skewered whoever tried to save him. Soujiro could not sense any presences in the vicinity, but of course, the valley was large, and the Hitokiri battle sense was generally best at sensing the presence of other highly tuned awarenesses--other sword masters. At the moment, he didn't feel like he could fend off an irate sushi chef, if one had sprung at him from somewhere.  
  
Eventually, the desire to be gone quickly overcame his urge to let Young-eun revive on her own undisturbed. He knelt down beside her, slid his arms under hers, and lifted her awkwardly to her feet. He was fumbling completely in the dark; he had seen ShiShiO carry Yumi around effortlessly, but he had never tried it himself. He had always been extremely uncomfortable with anything that involved touching other people, except fighting. It was showing now. He tried several times to get Young-eun's feet beneath her, and she did as best she could, but it was as if the bones in her legs had been misplaced somewhere. The first time he tried to relax his grip on her, she simply fell back against him. The second time, she began to fall away from him, and Soujiro was forced to wrap his arms tightly about her torso and shoulders and brace his legs to keep from falling down with her onto the grass. The third time, she began to fall back against him again, and this time, Soujiro simply leaned back, put one arm beneath her legs and another behind her back, and allowed her to fall into being cradled in his arms. He let out a sharp, involuntary hiss as the weight of an extra person landed on his wounded leg, but he quickly suppressed it.  
  
Soujiro carried Young-eun out of Yamashina's palace grounds, walking as steadily as he could manage back through the lush, terraced water gardens. It was amazing how everything looked the same. The world had looked so different to him after his battle with the Battousai. Of course, he was not really paying complete attention to the scenery. Behind him, Yamashina's palace was beginning to show signs of life. The water gardens remained tranquil, but the woods ahead of him did not have the feel of being vacant, and he was not making good time. He was wounded and trying to do the work of two.  
  
When he reached the base of the terraced gardens, he stopped. He had reached the fork in the road where Nagata had left him on his journey into the valley. One road led out of the valley, and he was very tempted to take it, but the other road probably led to Yamashina's stables. He was not in the mood for riding, but he was even less in the mood for walking, so after a moment of indecision, he took the rightward path and began strolling along the base of the water gardens of Yamashina's palace.  
  
He had only gone a few minutes, however, when the sound of a horse approaching from behind him reached his ears. As quickly as he could manage, he got off the trail and slowly lowered Young-eun to the ground, resting her against the bole of a tree. Then he returned to the edge of the road. His eyebrows perked up slightly; the sixth sense in the back of his mind was telling him that whoever was approaching was more than just a scout or courier.  
  
Then the horse and rider came into view, and a smile of pure relief lit up Soujiro's face. He had seen them both before, though he had all but forgotten about them moments after leaving them in the gorge on the far side of Ichibou.  
  
Ukita Shimiro reined in his horse when Soujiro half-stepped, half-stumbled into the road. Surprise and relief were painted on his face, but it did not hide the reenergized light burning in his eyes. Soujiro smiled inwardly. Ukita had not gotten here without fighting; the warrior spirit that he must have had to be an Ishin was much more awake than it had been when Soujiro had left the older man.  
  
"Soujiro-kun!" he exclaimed once he had gotten his horse to a halt. "What the hell happened to you?"  
  
Soujiro didn't even have the energy to answer. He simply turned around and headed back into the trees, motioning Ukita not to go anywhere. He returned moments later with Young-eun cradled in his arms. The little Korean teenager was still apparently struggling to regain consciousness, her hands opening and closing weakly and her legs twitching slowly, but her eyes were still closed and her body was still completely limp.  
  
"Holy shit!" Ukita exclaimed, leaping down from the horse. "How on Earth ..."  
  
"Never mind," Soujiro interrupted. "Just get her out of here."  
  
Ukita hesitated.  
  
"What?" Soujiro asked. He was tempted to explode, "What the hell are you doing?! Move!!" He was too tired, though, and the ice of the Tenken was still cold around his mind.  
  
"You go," Ukita said suddenly.  
  
"What?" Soujiro exploded incredulously.  
  
"That horse will never get the three of us out of here, especially not me," he said, tapping his fist on his girth. "He's tired enough as it is. He'll move a lot faster if it's only you two featherweights on him. And even hurt, you'd probably do better protecting her than me, if it comes to that."  
  
"But you're ..."  
  
"How many times do I have to keep telling you to move?!" Ukita snapped. "Get her out of here before that hornet's nest up there wakes up, or I'll skin you myself."  
  
"Anou ..."  
  
"Move!!" Ukita snarled.  
  
*Move because we'd never get out of here with the horse. Move because we need the horse to get out of here. Move here. Move there. Why don't I ever get to tell anyone what to do?* Soujiro thought to himself. Of course, he was already on the horse by the time he finished thinking it, and there was no heat behind the thought. It was just something to distract him from the pains all over her body. He set Young-eun in front of him, reached around underneath her arms so he could both grasp the reins and hold her steady at the same time, and prepared to head back to Ichibou. He was glad that his horse was the calmest one he had ever met, and recalling the incident in the gorge to the west, he remembered that it didn't panic when fighting erupted nearby either. He was even less experienced with horses than he was with women.  
  
"Soujiro!" Ukita called out behind him.  
  
The Tenken turned around, barely managing to cut himself short from setting the horse in motion; he wasn't sure he would be able to stop the animal once he got it started.  
  
"She can't stay here anymore."  
  
Soujiro knew that Ukita was right, but the aged samurai seemed to be trying to imply something more than that. He turned a puzzled expression on the blacksmith, hoping to get a better explanation.  
  
"I trust you." The former Ishin somehow made it sound even more loaded.  
  
For another moment, Soujiro was still completely lost. Then it suddenly hit him what Young-eun's father was saying, and his eyes widened in shock. "You can't be serious," he said faintly, though it was obvious that the man was not joking, and the man clenched his teeth at Soujiro's incredulous hesitation.  
  
"Don't even tell me where you're going. If they find me, I don't even want to be able to tell them anything even if they break me."  
  
"Are you crazy?" Soujiro asked. "She'll kill me when she wakes up if she doesn't know you're safe!"  
  
"I can take care of myself, boy!" Ukita retorted. "And she knows it! She'll understand, trust me!"  
  
"And if she doesn't?"  
  
"That's your problem, then! GO!!"  
  
Soujiro turned and was about to heel the horse into motion again when he stopped for a second time. An idea had surfaced in his mind, thoughts of his days wandering abroad gathering intelligence on ShiShiO's enemies returning to his consciousness. He had thought about those journeys often since he left Kyoto, until he got drawn into the web of Ichibou. He turned once more to Ukita and said, "If you change your mind, I'll let someone know where to find me. If you were Ishin ShiShi, you'll know him when you see him. He's staying at the Kamiya Kasshin Ryu dojo in Tokyo."  
  
Ukita nodded wordlessly. Soujiro was surprised that the blacksmith didn't ask any further questions, though he didn't press the issue. He was eager to get going; the valley could not possibly stay quiet much longer.  
  
For the third time, Soujiro was just about to wheel the horse around when Ukita called out one last time "Soujiro-san!"  
  
Soujiro stopped; he had not missed the change in the form of address, but he ignored it.  
  
"Take care of her."  
  
Soujiro nodded slowly, and the most genuine smile since the night on Ukita's roof appeared on Soujiro's lips. He took care to arrange Young-eun as comfortably as he could manage; all the false starts had shifted her into an awkward position. Then, with a quick toss of his head to Ukita in farewell, he whicked the reins, and set off back up the valley at a brisk canter. Ukita was already stealing off the path into the forest. Neither one of them ever looked back.  
  
  
*****  
  
  
EPILOGUE:  
THE WANDERING WIND  
  
Young-eun opened her eyes. She had no idea where she was, though the air was cool and she could tell that there was something soft underneath her. She was in the middle of a forest, though it did not have the same cultivated feel as the forest in Yamashina's valley. The last thing she remembered was reaching for her sword after Yamashina had knocked her down. Even that memory was faint and dreamlike. Of course, she reasoned, that could be because her head was pounding so much that everything felt faint and dreamlike, but everything after Genji's dart had struck her got fainter and fainter in her mind. Everything after she had gotten outside onto the palace walls and seen Soujiro fighting Yamashina in the outer courtyard was even more blurry. It was giving her a headache just thinking about it.  
  
She tried to sit up and failed. All she managed to do was progress from soft painful breathing to loud painful breathing. She tried to roll over onto her stomach and push herself up with her arms. That didn't work either, though it did let her know that she had been lying on a comfortable outdoor bedroll. She got a good look at it, because for some reason her head wouldn't obey her orders to lift itself, and thus the side of her face was pressed into the cushioning. *This is getting nowhere,* she told herself. Even her voice in her mind sounded strained.  
  
She managed to roll over to a thick tree nearby. Using its trunk for leverage, she managed to work herself into a sitting position, though the effort made spots dance in front of her eyes for a few moments, and she thought she might pass out again. When her vision cleared, though, it brought no more answers.  
  
She could see a stream several yards off through the trees, and a horse was tethered to one of the trees along the bank. She also realized that her bedroll was the only one in the clearing, though it looked like there had been someone else here. A pile of soft leaves and moss had been gathered a few feet away from her own bedroll, and it looked like someone had probably spent an uncomfortable night there. Then again, she couldn't exactly be sure what time it was. A little before sunset or a little after dawn, one of the two; she had no idea which way was east or west at the moment. The remains of a small fire stood lifelessly nearby as well. Aside from the bedroll and a small pot lying by the remains of the fire, there was nothing manmade in sight.  
  
Looking down at herself, she realized that she should probably also count her clothes as not being manmade at this point. They were horribly torn and dirty beyond recognition; skin was showing in almost half a dozen places where it shouldn't have been, though she realized with disgust that those patches were so plastered with dirt that there really wasn't much skin actually showing after all. Her hair was tangled and matted as well, though she didn't dare think how bad it might have been if she hadn't cut off a lot of it. With a start, though, she realized that her face had been rinsed off, at least. At least, she could feel her skin when she managed to touch her face, and no dirt came away when she did; of course, her hands were dirty enough that she would probably never have known.  
  
She finally got around to wondering who on Earth she was traveling with. She ruled out Yamashina quickly; she would still be bound hand and foot if he had somehow gotten hold of her again. The same would apply to any of Yamashina's retainers. Ukita-san could certainly ride a horse, would want to get her away from Ichibou as soon as possible; she guessed that it was probably him, even though the last she had seen of him, he had been set to hard labor in Yamashina's iron mines. The old coot would never have remained there long, she was sure of that. Then again, there was still even a remote chance that it was ...  
  
Suddenly, without any noise or warning whatsoever, Soujiro stepped into the clearing, appearing from behind one of the trees just behind the fire pit. His sword was still girded at his waist. In one hand he held what looked to be a fat duck, already cleaned and ready for cooking; in the other hand he held what looked to be an oversized satchel. Young-eun's breath caught at the sight of him, and she breathed a sigh of relief that he was alive. The only thing that made her almost as happy as the sight of him was the sight of that dead duck. She was starving.  
  
The moment he noticed that Young-eun was awake, he dropped the satchel, and it looked like he was almost about to drop the duck, too, though he managed to stop himself at the last instant. Slowly, he set the duck down in the pot next to the fire, though he didn't come any closer once he had stood up again. Young-eun noticed the same awkwardness and uncertainty in his eyes that she had seen that first night she had met him, at the Red House. She bit her lip in anxiety. *Is the only time he's sure of himself when he's fighting?* she thought. Her thoughts were somewhat disordered, though; the hitch in her breath when he had appeared had made spots dance in front of her eyes again.  
  
"You ... you're awake," he said.  
  
Young-eun smiled, and laughed weakly. "They say nothing evades the eye of a Hitokiri," she joked, though her strained breathing robbed it of its humor.  
  
Soujiro relaxed a little bit, and finally came over to where she sat, though he sat himself down across from her, several feet away, and did not come any closer. Young-eun wanted to motion him to come sit by her, but her hands were too weak to make the effort, and she needed both of them, as well as the tree, to hold herself upright.  
  
"Where'd you go?" she asked, just to break the silence.  
  
Soujiro smile took on a wry tinge. "A couple of ducks landed in a pond a little way downstream, right by the road, and then a merchant's wagon passed while I was there, too."  
  
"Looking for a job?"  
  
Soujiro smiled, and for the first time, Young-eun might have said it was almost warm. "Women's clothes, actually," he answered, with a shy glance at her kimono. "And a couple of other things."  
  
Young-eun colored slightly when Soujiro mentioned clothes, though she realized that she was partly embarrassed simply because she hadn't felt embarrassed earlier when Soujiro had walked into the clearing with her clothes in that state. It hadn't even occurred to her that she should have been.  
  
"How're you feeling?" Soujiro asked when Young-eun fell silent.  
  
"Like I got run over by a cavalry division," Young-eun replied truthfully.  
  
"Think you'd be OK for a bath?" he asked.  
  
Young-eun perked up almost immediately. "You have soap?"  
  
Soujiro actually looked offended when she said that. Young-eun looked at him, trying to figure out what she might have said wrong, but Soujiro smiled again a moment later, and an almost bemused look entered his eyes. "Yes, I have soap," he answered. "I use it myself, you know."  
  
"Wha ... ? Oh ... crap, I didn't mean it like that," she answered lamely. *Damn you, Young-eun, did you have all the sense knocked out of you sometime?* she cursed herself. *If he didn't have soap, he wouldn't look like ...* she broke herself out of that line of thought, concentrating instead on leveraging herself to her feet. At least her limbs were beginning to respond to her commands again, though she still felt like she had cloth scraps instead of muscles.  
  
Soujiro had already headed over to the bag he had brought back from the merchant's wagon. When he came back, he held a sturdy brown peasant's kimono folded over to look like a small cushion, with a bar of soap prominently displayed on top. He didn't say anything, but the look in his eyes was all too obvious. Young-eun couldn't hide a wan smile as she snatched the items from him and headed out towards the stream.  
  
After one of the longest baths she had ever taken, she took a look at herself in her reflection on the water. The kimono was certainly not as ornate as the one that had been destroyed, but at least it was whole. She was barefoot now, but she didn't mind; at least her feet would be clean for a few minutes, which is more than she could say if she put on the sandals she had been wearing again. Her hair definitely looked and felt a lot better, though now she was beginning to wish she hadn't gotten rid of so much of it; it looked as though it had been cut with a sword. Of course, it actually had been, but that was beside the point; the point was that it looked like it. The bath had been good for her head, too; the clear, cold mountain water helped drive away some of the lagging haziness in her mind, though she would have preferred something warmer for her muscles.  
  
An absolutely delicious aroma greeted her as she headed back to the camp, and she almost forgot about the stiffness in her legs. Soujiro greeted her with a smile, but Young-eun's attention was more on the pot than on Soujiro at the moment. "What is that?" she asked wonderingly.  
  
Soujiro grinned. "Duck breast, pecans, cashews, and a few mixed vegetables, sauteed with honey garlic sauce and sesame seeds. Only stream water to drink, though."  
  
Young-eun's eyes were growing wider and wider with every word. They were as big as saucers by the time he finished. "Where ... where did you learn to cook like that?" she asked.  
  
Soujiro's grin twisted nonchalantly. "I was ShiShiO's messenger, so I had to travel a lot. It was either learn to cook or live on steamed rice and trail rations. I've had enough rice for a lifetime." Young-eun felt like there was more in that last statement that she understood, but she decided not to press the matter. She had gotten the point.  
  
Dinner was as good as it smelled, though technically it was breakfast time; the sun had been rising since Young-eun awoke. As they ate, they traded stories as to what had happened to them since they separated the previous night, though Young-eun shifted past several points that she didn't feel like talking about. Young-eun learned that she was in the woods to the south of the plain south of Ichibou, and she had been unconscious--or at least almost unconscious--for almost twenty-four hours. She accepted that Ukita-san had told Soujiro to take Young-eun away; Soujiro seemed surprised by that, but Young-eun realized that he didn't know the two of them that well. She was surprised to learn that Soujiro had only left her side once during those entire twenty-four hours, which just happened to be the exact time she woke up.  
  
The conversation almost seemed to steer itself around anything that could touch on anything emotional, however, which, while she didn't let it show, frustrated a small corner of Young-eun's mind. She had kind of been expecting it, but she was secretly hoping that somehow it would come into the conversation; she just didn't want to be the one to bring it up. He still insisted on sitting across from her, not next to her, and he seemed as unable to say anything about his emotions as her. She remembered that they had both managed to get past that on the roof of Ukita-san's house, but that had been different, somehow. It still hadn't come out in the real world anytime.  
  
"So where do we go from here?" she asked.  
  
Soujiro looked at her awkwardly. After a moment's hesitation and an encouraging look from Young-eun, he answered, "You don't ... have to come with me, if you don't want to, you know."  
  
She shrugged. "Where would I go if I don't?" she asked.  
  
"Iie, iie, it's not that, I just don't ..." he trailed off, searching for words.  
  
"You don't want me to feel like I'm trapped?" she asked. She understood what he was saying, though he couldn't be further from the mark.  
  
Soujiro nodded.  
  
Young-eun made herself get up and sit down next to the little wanderer. He gave no outward reaction, and wouldn't meet her eyes, but at least he didn't move away. "I don't feel trapped," she said. "I've never felt more free in my life. Three days ago, I didn't think I'd ever get out of Ichibou. Two days ago, I didn't think I'd ever get out of that bastard's house. Yesterday, I couldn't even move. Why would I feel trapped now?" she asked.  
  
Soujiro didn't say anything as he absorbed this; he barely even moved. Young-eun kept waiting for him to say something, watching for any kind of reaction, but he was unreadable, and she hadn't had the training in reading other people that he had. She dearly wanted to reach out her hand to his like she had three nights ago, but something kept holding her back.  
  
Eventually, the tension got to be too much for her. She slipped her right hand out slowly and rested it on his left shoulder. He again when she did, and she almost drew it back, but instead she just let it lie there. "Do you ... do you really want me to leave?" she asked.  
  
He finally turned to meet her eyes then, and her breath caught again. There was no mistaking what she saw there, but she reached her hand up to them just to be certain anyway. She brushed her fingers just under his eye, spreading away the glistening trickle of moisture that had formed there. His hand suddenly came up to her wrist, gently holding it where it was, her hand still resting just below his eye.  
  
"Ii ... iie ..." he managed shakily.  
  
Young-eun suddenly realized that she was crying herself, and couldn't stop herself until she suddenly burst out laughing. Soujiro's tears dried before hers did, the tension had faded from him and he was smiling again, though he still did not share in her laughter. She made a point that she was going to get him to laugh someday. With one last laugh and a broad smile, she reclined back on her elbows and sighed lightly into the sky. He was not the only one who had managed to shake the tension out of themselves, she realized. She had not felt this relaxed anywhere except her roof in years. "So where to now?"  
  
Soujiro lay down on his back next to her. "I guess I'd kind of planned on heading east to Nagoya, and see if we can catch a ship there to Tokyo," he answered. "There are some people there I think you'd like to meet."  
  
"Sounds great," Young-eun replied. Something occurred to her then. "Wouldn't walking be cheaper, though? I'm kind of broke,"  
  
Soujiro smiled mysteriously. "Don't worry. Someone I knew died unexpectedly recently, and I think they left a lot of money unclaimed."  
  
Young-eun arched an eyebrow at him. "In Nagoya?" she asked.  
  
"Enough to get by for a while on," Soujiro answered nonchalantly. "There's a lot more in Tokyo, though, and even more in Kyoto and Osaka if we ever go back there."  
  
If anyone else started saying things like this, Young-eun would probably have thought they were exaggerating, but Soujiro wasn't that type, and he didn't even really seemed to know what he was implying, if that was possible. "Anou ... if I might ask ... how much is a lot more?"  
  
"Oh ... I'm not sure," Soujiro answered. There was a maddeningly secretive smile on his face. "It should be enough, though."  
  
Young-eun gave up. She didn't feel like talking about money right now. It was a boring conversation anyway. Looking over at Soujiro, she realized that it must have been boring to him, too. His eyes were closed, and he looked like he was quickly falling asleep.  
  
"Are you falling asleep?" she asked.  
  
He nodded. "I've slept for three hours in two days," he reminded her. "We're a ways from town now, and I really don't feel like moving for a while."  
  
Young-eun smiled. "That's fine with me," she answered. Without another word, she leaned across and kissed the Tenken softly on the cheek. A minute later, she was asleep as well, coiled up against Soujiro's side with her head resting on his chest.  
  
***  
  
Soujiro lay motionless for a full fifteen minutes after Young-eun's breathing relaxed into slumber, but he was not asleep. His eyes were wide open and staring into the treetops. The events of the last three days were still spinning through his mind, and he had never had a chance to sit down and sort them out during any of that time, which only made it worse. He could never remember life being so complicated.  
  
On the other hand, somehow, in the midst of all that, things were finally starting to come into focus again for him. He was starting to understand why Himura Kenshin had forsaken killing and risked his life to protect people. He was starting to understand why people deserved the chance to live.  
  
Emotions were spinning around inside his head as well, and those were harder to deal with for him than events. 'Complicated' did not even begin to describe it. No matter how hard he tried, he could not bring his thoughts into focus; his emotions were a kaleidoscope inside his mind. It had been hard enough before Young-eun had ...  
  
He wasn't even going to think about that. Of course, the more he thought about not thinking about it, the more he thought about it. The fact that she was so close didn't help, either. Eventually, he simply gave up. There was only one thing he could say to express everything he was feeling.  
  
"Orooooooooo ...."  
  
*****  
  
!!THE END!!  
  
  
(1) warrior's timing (see Kenshin ep 53, Fuji vs. Hiko, for an example)  
(2) waterspout  
(3) secret; succession technique  
(4) Whirlpool of Night  
(5) Spirit of the North Wind  
  
  
IT'S FINALLY FINISHED!! Six months and change in the making, and voila! This is now the longest story I've ever produced (though I've had some long ones before, just not fanfictions). I seriously hope you've enjoyed all this, and my special thanks to everyone who's been a fan since the prelude went up back in December 2000! And once again, I'm really sorry that this is so late in coming (the second-to-last chapter was uploaded in April). College finals always get in the way of the important things in life.  
  
I'm itching to write a sequel, but I'll have to seriously think about it before I start. Too often, I think sequels not only are worse than the original, but they make the original look worse, too.  
  
I intend to keep updating this, but any of you who have me on AuthorAlert may as well ignore it; I'm a revision addict, so I'm going to go back and re-read everything I've written and correct all the little mistakes that I've made here and there along the way. I don't think I'll add any more substantive content.  
  
As always, I love reviews! Let me know what you think, who/what you liked, etc.! I'm especially fond of my battle scenes and the characters that I actually created (Yamashina and Young-eun particularly), so especially let me know what you thought of them, and anything else that jumped out at you! I look forward to hearing from everyone ... if you made it this far, something has to have struck you by now, or I didn't do my job. :-)  
  
Viva Soujiro! 


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